


Castle of the Cursed

by alyssakay347



Category: Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Drama & Romance, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is a Wizard, F/M, Furry Hank is Furry, M/M, Mutations as Curses, Raven is a Wizard, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyssakay347/pseuds/alyssakay347
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howl's Moving Castle AU. Charles is cursed, stripped of his worth, and forced to leave his life in the city. He stumbles upon a new one in the forest and soon makes friends with people who were cursed by the same powerful Wizard who terrorized him. Together they hope to take down the enemy once and for all, but not everything goes as expected. Change - whether they want it or not - is inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Massive clouds floated past, like ships on bright blue water. They conceded for the true airships, some of which darted forward quick as fish, others plowing through like slow submarines. Many of them trailed colorful banners, displaying patriotism for a war finally won. Cheering could be heard from far outside the city, a dull roar with the occasional standout horn or anthem. Charles smiled to himself, not regretting staying at home one bit. He was happy for everyone else, taking part in endless parades and festivities, but commotion wasn’t his style. 

He drew with careful, confident strokes with his ink pen, trying to capture the clouds before they drifted too far in the distance. They made a magnificent landscape along with the rolling hills and luscious forest on the horizon. Charles could see it all through the window by his desk, until his view was cut off by a train. 

The whistle was loud and long, but Charles didn’t bother covering his ears. He’d learned to sleep through the sound over the years at his mother’s house. The train cars whooshed by endlessly, and Charles leaned his head in his hands. He should be working on his real work, designing clothing for his stepfather’s business. Officially, he designed mens clothes, but six months ago his mother decided she wanted to start a line of dresses for women—as utterly feminine as the mens clothes were rigidly masculine. When the excitement wore off and the frustration set in, she unofficially passed the work over to Charles. 

He didn’t mind; he liked the distraction. It gave him an excuse to be alone, even though he considered himself a social creature. The past few years had been uncomfortable, with most boys his age going off to war while he could hardly walk without crutches. People immediately saw him as someone to be pitied, and while Charles forgave them for that, he still couldn’t find it in himself to go out and about like he used to and face the looks. 

Maybe if he had lived with his mother from the start, the locals wouldn’t treat him like a strange, crippled entity belonging to Kurt and Sharon Marko. But he had lived with his father overseas for most of his life, and knew he would never truly belong in Heartworth. With his father, life was all education and exploration. With his father, his crutches didn’t matter. With his father, great things were expected from Charles Xavier, genius in the making. But that life had been snuffed out along with his father in the war. 

The caboose flew by and the landscape was in full view once again. The sun was beginning to set, but Charles sketched as quick as he could. He knew the drawing would have to be put away somewhere unseen, but it was satisfying to finish the piece anyway. Not bothering to sign the bottom, he put away his pens and colors and paper. Charles’s desk was perfectly neat by the sun slipped behind the forest trees. 

While maneuvering out of the chair, Charles knocked over a wooden crutch. He awkwardly knelt down to right it but felt a strong spasm of pain and fell. _Still,_ Charles thought. _It never fades._ The pain had stayed loyal to him since the day he was born.

It was closing time for _The Wardrobe_ , and Charles made his way quickly to the front of the store—he was nothing if not a master of crutches. He passed the fancy racks of fancy clothing and locked the front doors, flipping the hanging sign to closed. He handled the till, but there wasn’t much to handle. Everyone was celebrating downtown, and the shop wasn’t close enough to the action to get many customers. Charles had enjoyed an uneventful day at his desk, uninterrupted by any tinkling bells and customers. 

He reached for the lights, but his eyes caught a suit on display Charles hadn’t seen before. Or rather, hadn’t seen off paper, since Charles was certain he designed it. Kurt must have set it up that morning before he left with his mother and stepbrother, Cain, for the parades. The dimensions and lines of the stately grey pants and jacket were just as Charles had imagined it. For once, Kurt had taken his design for what it was, without making his own clumsy adjustments. For a fleeting second, Charles imagined himself wearing it and smiled. Then another spasm shot up his leg like a reminder, and he turned off the lights. 

Neither Kurt Marko nor Charles’s own mother ever considered letting Charles wear anything from _The Wardrobe_ , even though they let Cain _._ Charles had asked once a year back when the family was invited to a dinner party, but was rebuffed so matter-of-factly that Charles never brought up the injustice again. 

_“Charles, you’re not fit to go to a party. How could you be fit to dress up for one?”_ His mother had thought nothing of the comment, Charles knew, but the words stuck with him. Even after all these years, even as a young adult, the words were like a scar that would never fade away.

He hadn’t gone to the party, instead spending the night confused about why “The Marko Family” didn’t include him. His last name wasn’t Marko, but didn’t he at least count as “any accompanying guests” as welcomed in the invitation? From then on, Charles had no delusions that his parents didn’t want to be seen with him, at least not at parties or dinners or places where anyone who’s someone would be. Eventually he convinced himself he didn’t regret staying home one bit. 

The store bell tinkled. Charles whipped his head around to see a man standing in the center of the shop. “Don’t bother turning the lights back on just for me.”

The ambient lighting from the street was enough to light up the man’s average-looking face. He wore a suit too sleek and modern for _The Wardrobe_.

“I thought I…” Charles looked over at the door, but it didn’t seem to be broken.

The man grinned. “I’m Sebastian Shaw, but I’m better known as the Wizard of Hellfire. Do you know me?”

Several seconds passed before Charles realized he had to respond. “Y-yes,” he stuttered. The Wizard of Hellfire was well known for placing dark and powerful curses his enemies, including diplomats all over the continent. It was rumored he had even cursed _royalty_ in the past. 

“You probably only know me as a villain. But I have a proposal for you, one I think you’ll want to consider, Charles Xavier.”

“How do you know my name?” 

The Wizard just smirked. “I know everyone who has the potential to be of use to me.”

“I don’t…” When the man moved closer, Charles moved back easily with his crutches.

“I need you for something,” said Shaw. “And I can give you something in return,” he nodded at Charles, “you’re legs.”

To his own surprise, Charles felt a surge of indignation. “Last I checked, I have both.”

“Hmm.” Shaw took another step closer, but Charles was trapped against to the three-panel mirror, which reflected more light onto the tall man’s face. “Last I checked, they hardly count. You’re a broken man, Charles. A broken _boy_ , since no one will ever treat you like an adult with something so significant holding you back.”

“I’m not held back from anything.”

The Wizard of Hellfire had a robust and disconcerting laugh. “Only all there is to enjoy in life. Walking without looking like a sorry fool, for starters. Making friends in Heartworth—could you imagine that? Perhaps not.”

Charles couldn’t imagine this man with friends, either. “I’m not a fool.”

“No, you’re not,” the Wizard said. “You think you know everything, don’t you? You were the top of your class all your life, your father’s golden boy with only one little flaw.” Anger leaked into the Wizard’s expression. “Now you’re just the flaw, but you can’t see that.”

“I’m getting along just fine here. I don’t care what others think. Why do you know so much about me?”

“Don’t care, hmm?” Shaw frowned and took another step closer. “I doubt that. If you didn’t, then you would go make something of your life instead of moping around here as the village cripple.”

Fear began to override the anger in Charles, and his hands trembled squeezing so tightly to the wood handles. “I have a perfectly fine life. I’m grateful for what my parents have done for me. I think you should leave.” The words felt as weak on his tongue as they were worthless to the Wizard. 

“I propose a deal,” Shaw said, grinning maliciously again. “I’ll give you working legs and you’ll go find someone for me. How’s that? Simple.” 

“Please leave.” The conviction in Charles’s voice made the man narrow his eyes. Charles refused to cower. “I don’t want to deal with a Wizard. Any wizard.”

“You’re content to be a disappointment for the rest of your life?”

“I’m not—”

“You _are_. Your mother loves you so little, I’m surprised you still tell yourself she cares at all.”

Charles sucked in a breath. “You don’t know—”

“I know more than most, Charles Xavier,” Shaw stated sharply. “And you know I’m telling only the truth.”

A moment of stunned silence passed. “Why are you…?” Charles muttered.

“Like I said, I need you to do something for me. You’re the weakest person in the entire city. You’re an outcast. You have no reason to linger here, so that makes you perfect for my quest.” 

“What quest?”

“I can tell you all you need to know if you agree to my terms. I can give you a purpose in life beyond drawing bowties and dresses.” Shaw’s tone was as scathing as his smile.

Too many thoughts were bubbling up at once. They all were like dark clouds moving faster and faster. _I have a purpose here_ , Charles thought. He tried to remember what it was, besides drawing in the back room of a shop.

“I don’t have all night, Charles. Make a decision: Will you stay with your broken, worthless life or begin a new one working for me?” 

Charles glanced at his own reflection in the left panel of the mirror. Sweaty, scared, curled into his crutches like a snail cowered halfway into its shell. He tried to remember that this was the Wizard of Hellfire, crime and curse extraordinaire. He tried to remember his family.

“No, thank you.”

The Wizard staring at him motionlessly for a long moment, like he didn’t hear the answer. Then he took a step back. “A worthless life, hmm? Say it. ‘I choose to be broken, great Wizard of Hellfire.’” His smile had turned stone cold, no trace of humor left. 

Charles made himself straighten up. “I’m not broken. I know my parents care, even if it’s only a fraction more than you do. I know my family needs me, my mother needs me, and that’s purpose enough.” _I am not a fool._ His mother might only need him for _The Wardrobe_ , but that was enough. _They need me_. _The Wardrobe would fail without me. They would lose everything._ Charles tried to stave off the reminder that Kurt had managed just fine before his stepson ever came to Heartworth. 

The Wizard turned to leave but said, “You _do_ think you know everything. Well,” he reached the door, “perhaps it would be for your own good if you _did_.” The Wizard put his hand on the handle and glanced back. A woozy feeling wash over Charles, but he still made out the man’s final words. “Life is short, but not for me. I’m patient, and I know you’ll come to Hellfire one day. Maybe in a month, maybe in a year. You’ll come.” One final smile. 

“Goodbye, Charles.”

Charles was already collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. He heard the tinkle of the bell and then nothing. 

  


*

  


_“My god!”_ “Charles!” 

_“Is he dead?”_ “Is he dead?” _“Will I have to do the till now?”_

 _“Should move him away from the mirror. Crutch might scratch it.”_ “Charles?” 

Charles woke to a jumble of voices and stabs of pain in his legs. He opened his eyes and saw his mother kneeling next to him, still dolled up for the downtown celebration. The lights flicked on, and Charles tried to shield his eyes. 

“Charles, are you alright?” Sharon Marko asked. 

When Charles got his bearings, he nodded. “I think so.”

_“Maybe he does have a disease after all.”_

“What?” Charles had heard his mother’s voice, but her lips hadn’t moved. 

“We should get you to bed. If easy days at the shop are wearing you down this much…” She didn’t finish the thought as she moved aside. Kurt held out his hand and Charles took it. 

_“Did he faint during hours? What if someone stole something?”_ Charles looked to Kurt, but his lips were pursed with poorly concealed irritation. 

_“What a girl.”_ The words clanged around in his head, and Charles glimpsed Cain sneering at him from across the room.

The next few minutes were nothing but a jumble of words, said and unsaid, leaving no room for any of Charles’s own thoughts. He still felt woozy and tried to remember what made him fall. The next thing he knew, he was lying in his small bed in his small room. He was on top of the covers, but at least his head rested on his pillow. He tried to move, but couldn’t when he felt a throbbing in his head that far outshone any other pain he’d ever had in his life. 

_“leave him” “lock the front?” “stupid little” “when is the” “carry his weight” “can’t see” “party” “what to do with him?” “Charles is” “not going to” “crutches”_

Charles face was streaked from tears from the stabbing sensations in his forehead. He only vaguely noticed that his room was empty and the door was closed. It was dark outside. There was nothing to do but feel—feel confused, feel scared, and most of all, feel pain. For once, Charles forgot about his legs, forgot about his crutches, and forgot why he would ever, ever agree to live in Heartworth.

When he woke up, bright light streamed through the window. His vision was slightly blurred from his headache. 

_“Where do you keep the damned designs? Idiot.”_

Charles jumped a foot, looking for who had asked the question. His room was still empty, door still closed. 

_“Should really take inventory just in case.”_

His heart began to pound in fright. Why was he hearing Kurt’s voice in his head? Charles had hoped the phenomenon had been a dream, a fluke, a delusion…

 _“Wonder what he’ll do when he finds out.”_ Cain’s voice. 

_Am I hearing their conversations? Or…_ Charles was already knew that he was heading their thoughts, but he didn’t want to believe it. 

_“Charles, you little bastard, I promised Liana she could see them. I promised. He better not have signed them. I need to remember to sign them,”_ thought his mother. 

He covered his ears helplessly. Even though his brain felt close to bursting from his skull, and his vision still wouldn’t focus right, Charles’s mind was clearer. _Sign them?_ Charles belatedly realized the truth of why his mother asked him not to sign his work. 

How could he be so stupid? Of course she took the credit. _Why else?_ Charles laughed, then coughed. _She called me a…_

_“Bastard! Am I going to have to tear this place apart? Where’s Cain? Need to” “Sharon? What does she” “wake him and ask”_

Charles felt a strange brightening in his mind that was not his own emotion. _“Oh yeah!”_

A few moments later, there was a loud knock-bang. “Hey, Sharon wants to know where you put your coloring book. Better hurry and show her. She’s not happy!” Cain’s chuckling filtered through the door. 

Sounds of footsteps retreating told Charles that Cain couldn’t hear his weak protest about calling it a coloring book. Shifting his body slowly on the bed, Charles tryed to ignore the growing panic that his vision wasn’t getting any better. He could see shapes and colors fine, but the details were fuzzy. He definitely should have been able to see his crutches next to his bed, but they weren’t there. _Curse you, Cain._

The thought of cursing brought the Wizard to mind. _Why me? It isn’t fair. Punish the weak for being weak by making them weaker?_ What kind of sadism was that? 

Walking wasn’t impossible; it was only as painful as walking on sharp nails. Just the idea nearly made tears spring up, but the agony in his skull just might be bad enough to diminish the pain in his legs. Charles managed to stand, leaning heavily on his side table, then his dresser, then the doorknob. Even though his his left leg was considerably worse, both legs experienced spasms and shocks as he limped forward. 

His mother would be in the back room of the shop, two flights of stairs down. No one had thought about what a bad combination stairs and crutches were, and Kurt refused to let Charles sleep in the back room of the shop. “You’ll learn,” he said. “It’ll be good exercise.” Of course, the man had his face buried in paperwork at the time and hadn’t learned how to say Xavier correctly. There was no way he was going to bother to learn how painful the combination was. 

Charles told himself Kurt was right, since he had eventually learned the art of not killing himself on the stairs. Charles wasn’t so sure about his skills as he clutched the railing for dear life. Luckily, he took so long getting down, that his mother eventually met him halfway. “Cain, what—Charles! There you are. Where did you put your newest designs? For the next collection?” 

He hesitated, wondering if he should ask about the whole signing dilemma. He decided against it, since he couldn’t see just how mad his mother was with his obscured sight. “Bottom left drawer in my desk, the green folder. Do you—” She was already gone. 

The step he was on rushed up to meet him. Charles leaned his head against the wall, unable to block out the jumbled thoughts of everyone in the shop. 

_“Better not have signed them” “Ha! Without his” “crutches better last through the year because I’m not” “here they are” “twenty, forty, sixty, till”_

_“Liana will love this,”_ Sharon thought. The words stood out, like a potent smell or a bright color. Charles almost smiled, but then moment shattered. _“What is_ this _garbage? Clouds, trees, what? How long has he been—doodling again—Kurt will be furious.”_

Kurt hated when Charles wasted time and materials on his “doodles.” Charles knew it, but he couldn’t help sketching when there weren’t any customers and his designs were finished. He knew he shouldn’t have kept the drawing. He knew he at the very leastshouldn’t have put it anywhere close to his other work. 

For a moment, his mother’s mind was silent but for waves of anger. She was known for her quick temper when things didn’t go her way. That was why Charles never argued when she asked him to take on the women’s line for _The Wardrobe._ She would have…Charles didn’t know what she would have done. Most likely ask Kurt to intervene, like she was doing now. Charles braced himself. 

_“I know my parents care,”_ Charles had said. _“They need me.”_ But there he sat, in pain on the stairs, too tired to move, no one willing to help. His mother was angry at him, Kurt would be too, and Cain was just as cruel as Charles feared.

_I am a fool._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is not yet complete, but as of posting this first chapter, I'm midway through writing the eleventh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Four Months Later**

“Your work, Charles, it’s not what it used to be,” Kurt said. _“all wrong”_

Charles was surprised his quality work had lasted as long as it did. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t make the designs better, does it?” _“I knew he would be useless—a matter of time”_

“No, sir,” Charles muttered. “It’s my…my…”

“Your what? Spit it out.” Kurt was loosing his patience before the conversation had even begun. 

“My eyes. They—I can’t see right.” Charles decided he might as well say it if Kurt was going to fire him anyway. 

“What?” _“What? Blind too?”_

“I’m not blind,” Charles said, then hastily corrected himself, “if you’re worried about that, I mean. It’s been blurred for a while.”

“Why didn’t you get yourself some glasses then?”

“I tried. I went to the eye specialist three times. Nothing worked. The doctor said it must be a strange effect of my recent headaches.” 

It washed right over his stepfather, like usual. “On your own dime, I hope? Things like that are your own responsibility.”

“Of course,” Charles said. Just as quickly as Kurt was growing impatient, Charles was growing weary. His headaches had been a constant, along with the thoughts and blur.

Kurt checked his watch. _“meeting will Bill in twenty minutes—no time”_ “Listen, Charles, I have no choice but to hire someone else, but I can’t have you mooching off me. It’s not in the budget. If I think of another job you can do, I’ll let you know, but for now, you’re on your own. If you get a job and pay me rent, we’ll be alright. But you can’t stick around for free. I have a meeting to go to.” 

Blood rushed so loudly in Charles’s ears that he didn’t hear the back room door close. The constant stream of inarticulate thoughts finally subsided. Charles looked at the designs on his desk. He squinted at every distance, straining for a moment of clarity to see where his mistakes were. It was hopeless. Even the eye specialist said so: _“Boy, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. You get yourself cursed or something?”_ The man laughed for ages at his own joke, and Charles had to force himself not to say, “Yes. Yes, I was.”

What was he supposed to make of hearing thoughts, having headaches, permanently blurred vision? Charles didn’t know where to begin to cope. Were the latter two problems symptoms of the first? Was there any point to wondering at all? Out of spite, anger, and bull-headedness, Charles had banished any notion of going to Hellfire and demanding the curse be lifted in exchange for whatever the Wizard wanted. Charles couldn’t remember what that was anymore; that night felt like years ago now. The only clear things he could remember were: _You’re an outcast. You have no reason to linger here, so that makes you perfect for my quest_ and _You’ll come._

Unemployed and doomed for the streets. How was he going to get a job when he couldn’t walk _or_ see straight? How was he going to pay rent when he spent most of his savings on eye appointments? 

Suddenly, another piece of the fateful night came to him: _You_ do _think you know everything. Well, perhaps it would be for your own good if you_ did _._

Charles was ready to admit he knew the truth of what people thought of him now. He couldn’t hide behind his shield of optimism when every thought directed at him, by strangers or family, was like a cut on the soul. But was he ready to admit to the other things the Wizard had implied? That he had no purpose in Heartworth? That he would never belong? That he was weakest in the city?

Charles could admit he didn’t belong. He could admit the curse had made him weaker than ever. He might not have a purpose anymore in Heartworth, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was worthless. Charles was sure of that. He had to be, or he had nothing left. 

_Stay with your broken, worthless life or begin a new one working for me_.Charles had never said “No” to anyone in his broken life until then. What a terrible moment to decide that was going to change.

The whistle of another train snapped Charles out of his own thoughts—mercifully, his own. The shop was quiet, his family was out, and that only left Charles’s mind with the hum of the thoughts of those walking outside in the streets. He felt his heart swell with sudden determination. He was going to make a new life somehow, and it wouldn’t be on the Wizard’s terms. It wouldn’t be on _anyone’s_ terms. 

_No, great Wizard of Hellfire,_ Charles thought, remembering more of the conversation, _I do not choose to be broken_. He didn’t know if the Wizard had meant broken of body or mind, but Charles meant spirit.

Charles stood, maneuvered himself onto his crutches, and began the long, difficult climb up to his room on the third floor. In his giddy anticipation, he barely felt the pain. _I’ll go back to my life overseas, where people appreciated me._ Charles decided he would ask for no more than that. He had no idea _how_ he would get to Vince Port, considering the place was still under heavy security from the war’s aftermath, but somehow, he would. _I can’t have my father back, but I’ll find something._

It was still high noon, but Charles packed his satchel like sunset was seconds away. He stumbled around, taking only necessities and his pouch of coins and dollars. And book of poems—the only book he could pretend to read, since he’d memorized nearly every page. He went to the kitchen and stuffed as much bread, cheese, and fruit that would fit in his bag. He took a jar, filled it with water, tightened the lid on, and put that in the bag, too. He took a long drink from the faucet, took the the dusty lantern from the closet and was ready to go. 

Go where? The docks for overseas travel were in Feltentown. He couldn’t afford the expensive train ride there, nor did he want to be robbed by thieves and questioned by people along the way if he walked, but…

…the forest was the perfect shortcut. The forest wasn’t known for criminals like thieves or rapists, but for criminal witches and wizards—a far more horrifying prospect to the short-sighted locals. Charles grinned to himself. _So what if I get cursed again somewhere deep in the forest? What else could be done to make life worse?_ Blind him altogether?Charles thought that lacked creativity. 

His rash decision was made, and he wasn’t going to talk himself out of it. After meeting one of the most notorious wizards of them all, anyone he met in the forest could only be better in comparison, right? At that moment, the forest seemed less threatening than Heartworth.

But not as threatening as leaving at all. At certain as Charles was about going, he couldn’t dismiss all his doubts. What would his mother do? _Would she do anything? Would she look for me?_ Charles tried to imagine it, but failed. Kurt would convince her to leave him be, he’s an adult, albeit a coward and cripple, not to mention a chip off their shoulders out of the shop.

The thought made him nauseous, and the smells of the kitchen pushed him out the door in the end. In his wake, he left only a short note saying farewell and good luck. He was moving on. 

He headed straight straight for the forest and the falling sun. Charles knew he was woefully underprepared, but it didn’t keep the smile off his face. He swung confidently on his crutches, as if they were an extension of him, rather than an aid. No one stopped him. Charles couldn’t help but look back once, on the shining, quaint, blurred buildings and houses that made up Heartworth. For all its glitter, it was far from gold.

  


*

  


As it turned out, there was a path specifically for the purpose of getting from Heartworth to Feltentown. Charles had managed to stay positive in the face of “ _80 Miles West to Feltentown”. It could be worse,_ he thought. _Right?_

Charles’s hands were blistered from the chill and the grip on the crutch handles. His face was cool with dried sweat, and he could swear his armpits were bleeding. What he was most worried about was food. Along the halfway overgrown path were several dilapidated structures that might have housed someone or something with something to eat. Charles didn’t have the nerve to check for life. 

The sun was close to setting, so Charles called it a day. 

He leaned against a huge tree that had its roots tangled across the entire width of the dirt path. He set his satchel down and propped up his crutches, then lit his lantern with a match. The temperature was cooler than Charles had anticipated, but he had a coat. _Hope this lantern lasts._ Doubt flickered through him. Sixty miles would take a fast man days, a slow man longer, a man on crutches…Charles decided there was no point thinking about it. He didn’t touch his bag even though his stomach burned. His rule of thumb would just have to be _if I can save food for later, I must_. 

He took out his poem book and flipped through the pages. His vision, along with the dimming light, made reading it impossible. He tried to recall the words, but his perpetual headache was worsened from hunger. Charles hated the headache, but he learned to live with it. He had no other choice, after all; medicines and any other possible remedies were useless. The thoughts, however, were far harder to get used to. In the forest, even the hum of minds had ceased. The leaves in the trees swayed in the breeze, as did the foliage on the ground. Charles saw a deer cross over the path in the distance. The quiet of the surrounding land was nothing short of tranquil. He closed his eyes.

And opened them wide when he choked. Hands wrapped tight around his neck, sharp nails digging into the skin. Charles couldn’t see more than a dark human-like shape and could only hear heavy breathing. Charles tried to fight, but his arms were sore and weak from his crutches, and his legs were a lost cause for self-defense. Besides the rushing in Charles’s ears and the creature’s hissing, the forest was just as quiet as it had been a moment before. So maybe that deer hadn’t been a deer. Charles was too shocked to feel truly panicked, but not shocked enough to feel overwhelming disappointment. _I haven’t gotten anywhere yet._ Black began to spot his vision.

Then there was a loud, animal growl and something flew at the murderous creature from the side, tackling it to the ground. Charles gasped in ragged breaths, hands clutching his throat. The two things grappled on the ground with loud growls and hisses, but Charles could focus only on breathing life back into himself, and the black spots out. 

Eventually his coughing subsided enough for him to notice the wrestling had stopped and the bigger creature was kneeling, perfectly still. Charles used the last of his strength to back away, but the creature held up his arms. “No wait,” it said in a nearly perfect human voice. “I’m here to help. That rogue was going to kill you for your things. It won’t be waking up for a while.” 

Charles squinted at the silhouette. He grabbed the lantern that had mercifully not been knocked around and held it up. It only dimly lit up the man, but Charles felt more comfortable seeing facial features confirming humanity. “Thank you,” Charles mumbled. His throat flared up painfully when he tried to say more. 

The man hesitated, then said with less surety, “You shouldn’t speak. You shouldn’t… _be here_.” When Charles didn’t move, he added, “Are you alright?”

Charles nodded, but was overcome with another fit of coughing. He almost dropped the lantern, but the man darted forward to catch it. Charles thanked him by accidentally knocking over his crutches on his face. “Sorry,” he ground out. 

“It’s nothi—wait—” The man seemed to be at a loss for words. Charles grabbed for the crutches before the man could. He held onto them tightly.

“I’m not going to steal them,” said the man. “But are you _really_ crossing the forest on crutches?”

“Who are you?” Charles took back the lantern when the man held it out and held it closer to both their faces. He couldn’t make much more out than before except for one thing. “Is that fur?”

To Charles’s surprise, the man chuckled. “You’re just now noticing? I suppose next you’re going to point out I’m blue.” 

“Blue?” Charles narrowed his eyes, but in the awkward lighting, the man’s fur just looked like a dark grey. 

There was no chuckle this time. Charles sat back against the tree and continued to regulate his breathing. He thought nothing of the silence that followed until the man eventually said, “How many fingers?” The man held up his hand again. 

“What?”

“You know, how many fingers do you see?” He waved his hands a little. 

Charles heart sunk. He stared hard for the sake of trying, but sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know.” He set the lantern down between them, feeling only a little less humiliated than had been at the eye specialist. 

The man said nothing for a while, and Charles was grateful. Maybe he would be left alone after all. “Are you from Heartworth?” 

No such luck, then. “ _No_ ,” Charles said. “Well, yes, but I wasn’t born there.” 

“Oh. But, have you…”

“Are you talking about my eyes?” Charles asked. He huffed, throat still to sore to laugh. “I went to several doctors, but apparently my vision can’t be corrected.”

“Can’t be corrected?”

“Unless my doctors can reverse curses, no.” 

“ _Cursed?_ ” 

Charles felt like cursing himself again for mentioning it. What was he thinking? He didn’t know this man. “Yes. A while back, late last fall.”

“ _Who cursed you?_ ” 

Charles glanced up, surprised at the equal emphasis. “Who? A wizard, of course.” 

The man let out a frustrated sound that was distinctly animalistic. “Which wizard?”

“The Wizard of Hellfire. Something Shaw, I don’t remember anymore.” 

Silence. Charles suddenly felt desperate to fill it. “He came to my parent’s shop and offered to make a deal. He said I was the outcast of the city, which made me a good candidate for leaving it to do what ever wizard-work he had in mind. I knew enough about him to know working for him would be a terrible idea.” 

“What deal? What’s the curse?”

 _Why does he care?_ “He said he would give me working legs if I helped him find someone. I told him ‘no’ in a way that apparently warranted _cursing me_.”

“Bloody witches, he’s at it again…” the man muttered to himself. “Cursed you with what? Just bad vision?”

“No…I think everything’s just blurry from the headache I have that won’t go away…which is from…” _Should I say it?_ “…hearing other people’s thoughts.”

“Like, read minds?”

“That would imply I _wanted to_. Which I _don’t_.” He sighed. “But yes, I suppose so.” 

“My god, this could be it,” said the man.

“What?” 

“This could be _it._ His mistake, his brilliant, arrogant mistake! Erik was _right!_ Shaw’s messed up.” The man shook his head. “Mind reading, how fantastically foolish!”

“What?” Charles sat up straighter. “What mistake? Who’s foolish?”

The man sounded as giddy as Charles felt leaving town. “It’s a long story. Tell me, what am I thinking?”

Charles blinked. It didn’t hit him until that moment. “I—I haven’t heard anything.” _Why haven’t I heard his thoughts all this time?_ “You have to believe me, I can hear everyone else’s…”He was equally confused and relieved.

Instead of suspicion or disappointment, the man’s voice became thoughtful. “I believe you. I already have several theories in mind. The first thing that comes to mind is that you can’t hear the thoughts of other cursed people.”

“You’re cursed?”

“Have you ever heard of someone born with blue fur?” 

“No, but this is the forest…”

The man laughed-growled loudly. “All the monsters in the forest were made, not born. I’m from Feltentown.” He changed the topic abruptly. “Another possibility is that you just have to try harder. Let’s try something—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Charles said. “I don’t even know your name. And you’re from Feltentown? That’s where I’m going! Could you get me there?”

“Just pay attention for a second,” the man waved his furry hand. “Just look at me closely.” He lifted the lantern close to their faces, and Charles sighed. “Alright. Thanks. Okay. You hear thoughts, correct?” Charles nodded. “They just come to you? You don’t have to _try_ to hear them?” Charles shook his head. “I see. I’d like you to try now. I’m going to say a thought over and over in my head, and you try to listen for it.” 

“Why would I want to do that?”

That made the man stop. “Why would—? You can read minds! Curses can sometime be turned into an advantage.”

Something about the certainty in his voice rubbed Charles the wrong way. “There is no advantage to hearing thoughts, believe me. You hear nothing good. You see—or rather, you hear the the worst in everyone.” _Perhaps it would be for your own good if you_ did _,_ Shaw had said. “Listen, I’m _glad_ I can’t hear your thoughts.”

The man was silent for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about…I’ve helped people with their curses before. I’m a…doctor, of sorts, believe it or not. I think I may be able to help you control what you hear and don’t hear.”

Charles thought about that. “What I don’t hear?”

“Yes, of course.” Charles heard something besides confidence in his voice, something like sadness.

Charles rubbed his eyes. He’d long gotten used to his new vision, but that didn’t mean he stopped feeling the strain on his eyes. He felt strain everywhere. Perhaps if he humored this doctor, he would get some kind of ride to Feltentown. “Fine…try what?”

“Try to look in my eyes and concentrate.” Charles tried his best, but something so simple wasn’t simple anymore after nearly getting killed minutes ago.

“Concentrate. I’m saying the word now. Try to listen into my mind.”

Charles didn’t know how he was supposed to do that. He “listened” but he only heard the night ambiance of the forest. It was completely dark now. “Nothing.”

“Alright…Think about the thoughts you’ve heard in the past. Try to bring them up in your mind. What it felt like to hear them, how they sounded in your mind. Try to recreate them, as if you’re hearing them for the first time.”

“Uh, okay.” Unfortunately, the first thing that came to mind was: _“What is_ this _garbage?”_ He didn’t have to try very hard to recreate that one. Charles heard the sourness of the voice, the sourness of the thought itself plunged straight into his head like cold water. “Okay,” he said again. 

“Got it? Focus on that place in your mind where you hear the thoughts. It’s probably different from where your own thoughts are.”

The man was right. There was a slight difference. Like a different texture on the tongue, his own thoughts and other peoples thoughts were…

_“Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank, is he doing it? Hank, Hank—”_

Charles lit up brighter than the lantern. “Hank? Hank, is that your name?” 

“Yes! Yes, that’s it! I knew you could do it.” The man shifted, animal-like once again in his excitement. “Fantastic! By the way, what’s your name?” 

“Charles,” he said, smiling. 

“Well, Charles…” Hank sounded out of breath even though he’d long won the fight with the creature. If Charles was honest, he seemed almost _too_ happy about the situation. “Do you by chance need a job?”

“I…” His shoulders tensed. “What? I need to get to Feltentown so I can sail to Vince Port.” Charles hoped the amount of money in his sack would be enough to buy him a cabin on board.

“Vince Port? What’s in Vince Port?” 

“It’s my hometown.” 

Hank’s expression was too difficult to make our, but Charles knew the sound of sympathy all too well. “You…I assume you left before the war?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you meeting your family there or something?”

“No.”

“Then, if you don’t mind the question, what do you think you’ll find in Vince Port?” 

Charles frowned. He didn’t know _what_ was left in Vince Port, now that he thought about it. It wasn’t as if he’d find everything as it was when he left, minus his father. Now, there was likely only rubble.

“The memorial,” he said quietly. “My father’s grave.” The idea came to him like a gift of intuition. The memorial for those who died in the war was being built in the center of the city. 

“Oh,” Hank nodded, face clearing, “I’ve heard about that. They’ve finished it already?”

“I don’t know…”

Hank talked over him, excited again, saying, “Well you can always go and visit later. Better if you go when it’s done, and that might take a while. A lot of name—never mind. In the meantime you can work for us. You’ll need money to buy a ticket to at the docks, won’t you?” 

“I have…”

“You have five thousand dollars?”

“What?”

“That’s the typical price nowadays. Most ships are at the bottom of the ocean now, and the few remaining aren’t exactly in top traveling shape.

“ _Five thousand?_ ” Charles whispered, letting out a breath. He covered his face with his hands.

“I’m afraid so,” Hank said. “But a job will get you a ticket that much faster.”

“You have a job? For me?” Charles didn’t sound very believing.

“We do.” Hank smiled.

“We?”

Hank scratched his fur. “Well…it might take some convincing to…”

Charles felt like laughing and crying. “I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Who in their right mind would want to hire someone with a double handicap?” He shook his head, smiling too widely. “Except out of pity, of course. It’s kind of you but—”

“I’m not pitying you, Charles. We won’t need you to walk much, or read. We just need your mind.”

“For what?” 

“I think you’ll like what.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Taking down the Wizard of Hellfire once and for all.”


	3. Chapter 3

Walking on crutches in the middle of the night with only a lantern was hard. And slow. Hank got impatient quickly, and Charles didn’t blame him. He was too tired to protest when Hank insisted on carrying him on his back. It hurt his legs and his pride, but getting off his feet was a relief. Besides, Hank’s fur was warm. He was ridiculously strong. “How can you carry me?” Charles had asked, and Hank just growled—another element of his animal curse, then. The quick pace made for a bumpy ride, and Charles was too wound up now to try and get a couple moments of shut-eye. When Charles asked where they were going, Hank wouldn’t give him a straight answer, so he asked something else.

“So, who’s we?” He felt his back for the dozenth time to make sure his satchel and crutches were secure. 

“Just me and a friend. And his friend…a woman…she…” 

Charles chuckled. “Is she hard to work with?”

“No! No, I’m just,” he growled, “Honestly, I turn into an idiot around her. You know how it goes. She terrifies me.”

Charles didn’t know, but it sounded like Hank had a crush. “Huh. Does she like you?” 

“No, no, definitely not,” he said hastily. “I mean, not really. She doesn’t really know me well, and I try to keep it that way.”

“Why?”

“I told you, she terrifies me. I don’t think I could make small talk with her to save my life.” 

Charles chuckled. They were quiet for a while until he thought of another question. “How do you know so much about reading minds?”

Hank’s pace slowed almost to a stop for a moment, but returned to speed like nothing happened. “I knew someone else who could read minds once. She’s not around anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Charles wanted to lighten the suddenly dark mood. “What’s the scary-girl’s name?”

“Raven. Raven Darkholme.” 

“Interesting.”

“Don’t ever call her scary-girl to her face, okay?” To Charles’s amusement, he sounded genuinely anxious. “She’s not actually scary, she just scares me. Erik’s the actually scary one, but I don’t care what you call him.”

“Who’s Erik?”

“The friend I mentioned. He’s the leader of our little…makeshift organization. We’re on a mission to see Sebastian Shaw dead. _Secret_ mission, mind you.”

“What did he do to you guys? Did he curse you too?”

“Not me. But he did curse Erik. He could tell you about it.”

“Will he?” Charles asked. 

“Huh,” Hank paused. “Probably not, actually. Might as well ask, though, he’s unpredictable sometimes.”

“Not unpredictable if I can read his mind,” Charles said, grinning about his newfound control. Hank did stop then. “What? Why’d you stop?”

Hank’s voice was low. “Don’t try that, Charles. Don’t read his mind.”

“What? Why? Lots of secrets to protect?”

“Just,” Hank struggled for words, “The other person who could read minds, she did it once and it wasn’t pretty.”

Charles went pale. “Is…that why she’s not around?”

Hank tried to turn around, which was silly since Charles was on his back. “What? No! Oh god, no. No.” He sighed, growled out a laugh, and started forward again at a quicker pace than before. “He’s just a jerk who takes his privacy very seriously. You’ve been warned.”

“I’ve been warned.” 

_“_ He’s kind of an asshole,” Hank said. 

“Sure sounds like it. Is he a wizard?” 

Hank laughed. “Did you read my mind?” 

“No, I just guessed. I haven’t met many wizards in my life, but so far they have one common quality.”

“You’re lying. You read my mind,” Hanks laughs faded. “Um. Never do that, either—compare him the Wizard of Hellfire. He might just throw you off the castle.”

“Well what _should_ I do?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.”

“Wait. What castle?”

Charles could almost hear Hank’s smile in his mind. “Erik’s castle. If you could call it that—Raven did once as a joke, and the term just caught on.”

A longer time passed before they spoke again. “Why were you on the main path, anyway?” They were certainly far off any kind of path now.

“I live near the main path, not in the castle. I built myself a little cabin and call myself a doctor for the cursed. With all the recklessness of witches and wizards these days, business is not slow.”

That reminded Charles of something. “What was that thing that attacked me? You called it a…rogue?”

“A rogue wizard. Some witches and wizards, reckless or not, can go off the deep end for an endless amount of reasons. They’re powerful, but that power is their weakness. It can consume them. There isn’t too many, but they often lurk near the path to attack people like you for food.”

“Oh. I’ve never heard of that.”

“That’s no surprise. The King’s Royal Sorcerer doesn’t exactly make it common knowledge.”

They suddenly came upon a break in the forest that stretched for miles. And in the middle of it, illuminated by the moon, was a huge something. 

“Is that…” The huge structure was a mash of parts that Charles couldn’t quite make out in the blur. He could tell one thing, though. “…moving?”

Hank laughed and kept moving. “Yup. See the feet? The castle’s moved by magic, of course. A very special kind, the power of a fire demon. We call him Calcifer.”

“Demon?”

“Don’t worry. He’s just a pain in the ass like his master, not very demon-like in my opinion.” 

Charles would have replied if not for the drops he felt on his face. Hank started running faster when it started raining, but by the time they got close to the castle, they were both drenched. “The door’s up there?” In the dim moonlight, Charles could at least the frame of the door and doorsteps several feet off the ground. It was also moving away from them.

“It’ll stop for us.”

Sure enough, the castle enormous, blocky feet came to a slow halt and the door swayed to the ground. Hank stepped forward, but Charles said, “You can let me down. I can make inside fine.” 

“Alright. Luckily, Raven should be asleep.” Hank said it more to himself, and Charles laughed. He was feeling giddy again. This was like having a friend. 

Hank ignored him and went up the steps. He knocked three times, then twice more and opened the door. He held it open as Charles got situated on his crutches. The steps were easy enough to manage. 

The inside of the very cramped “castle” was gloomy but neat. A huge furnace burned brightly to the left and right of the room seemed to be a kitchen. Other than the fire, the room was dark. And cold.

Hank closed the door behind them and got close to the fire, rubbing his hands together. “Calcifer, it’s freezing in here.” 

“Too bad,” said a voice. 

Charles almost fell over, and not just because of the lurch of the castle moving again. “Who was that?” Charles asked, feeling stupid.

“Who’s this?” said the same, blunt voice.

Hank beckoned Charles over. “Charles this is Calcifer, this little spittle of flame here. Calcifer, Charles.”

“Hello,” Charles said, peering closely. He barely made out what might have been eyes and a mouth. 

“Who _is_ he, though?” said the fire.

“He’s gonna help us. With Shaw.”

“Oh really?” Calcifer drawled. “With sticks?”

Charles flushed when he realized what Calcifer meant. 

“Crutches, you dimwit,” Hank said with a twinge of awkwardness. “They help him walk. Now would you warm this place up already? We’re drenched.” 

“Go ask Erik. I only listen to him.”

“Like hell you do. Unless you want a douse of cold water I suggest you listen to me.”

“No!” The petulant fire flared. 

Hank rolled his eyes. “Why are you being so stubborn? Asserting your power in front of guests? Seriously, why is it an icebox?” 

Charles wondered the same. He could see his breath.

The fire gave an annoyed sigh. “Raven pissed off Master Erik, so he decided to make everyone as uncomfortable as possible.”

“How are _you_ uncomfortable?” Hank asked. He pulled up two chairs, and Charles thanked him. The sat down as Calcifer flared around in his grate again. 

“I’m drowning in ashes, _you dimwit_. Are you both blind?”

Charles’s eyes widened, but Hank just sighed. “Why didn’t Raven tend to you?”

“She was too busy pouting to remember little old me.”

“Oh, you _poor_ thing.”

“You know what? I’ll make it _colder_. Unless you wanna get Raven to fix me up.”

“Fine,” Hank muttered. and began to tend to the ashes and logs. 

“You’re a hoot, Beasty,” the fire cackled. 

“Don’t call me that,” Hank growled. 

Charles glanced glanced around the room some more, but only made out lines and shades and shapes as usual. 

“Why are _you_ squinting, kid? Place not fancy enough for you?”

Hank threw Charles a worried glance, but Charles just grinned. “I _am_ a little blind, actually.”

“Huh? You can’t see me?”

“I can see you. You’re just an orange…shape, though.”

“ _Shape?_ I am a _fire_ , pretty boy. A fire _demon_.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t!” Charles laughed. “How about if I say you’re the most interesting thing to look at in here? Sorry Hank.” 

Hank shook his head, “I probably look like a wet dog.”

“You _are_ a wet dog, Beasty. And kid, tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

“There you go,” Hank said, putting down the metal tools. “Comfortable as a king, now turn up the temperature.”

“King, shming.” The temperature in the room slowly rose, and Charles stopped shivering. He brushed through his hair, hoping it would dry quickly.

“Raven is asleep, right?”

“Yes, Hanky. She’ll probably sleep ’till noon.” Calcifer cackled again. “You’re _safe_ ,” he mocked. 

“Shut up,” Hank leaned back in his chair. “I’m wet and disgusting from running in the forest. My clothes are wrecked.”

“Maybe you should just not wear clothes, like Raven.”

Hank coughed, “Uh, no,” and Charles said, “She doesn’t _what_?” 

“She’s as blue as Hank, here,” Calcifer said. “But with scales, not fur. They make walking around barely decent. Barely. Not that Hank would ever complain.” 

In Calcifer’s light, Charles could have sworn Hank’s fur turned a little purple. “All the time?” Charles asked. 

“No, only in the castle. She was cursed a long time ago, too.” Hank said. “Cursed to look like…well, you’ll see I guess. Heh, or not! She became a witch to fix herself, but the curse was irreversible. She learned how to shift into other appearances, though—a common thing for a witch or wizard to master, but Raven’s the expert—”

“Master Erik incoming,” Calcifer said suddenly. “I _told_ you it was a bad idea to mess with the temperature—”

“No you didn’t—”

“Who are you?” A figure stood at the far side of the room, barely lit by the fire. Charles opened his mouth, but didn’t answer quick enough. “Hank, what are you doing here?” 

Hank stood quickly, excitement back in his tone. “Erik! Shaw messed up, just like you said. He’s also on the lookout for you again, apparently.”

“Again? What are you talking about? When did you learn this?”

“Charles was cursed by him a few months ago. Actually, Shaw tried to strike a deal with him to look for you but he refused and Shaw cursed him.”

“Slower, Hanky, I’m too tired for your crazy,” Calcifer said. 

Erik could keep up just fine. “He said me, specifically?”

“No,” Charles answered as Hank said, “Who else could he mean?” 

It was quiet for a moment, except for Calcifer’s crackles and pops and the creaking of the moving castle. “Why would he ask you? You use crutches. Is that a recent development?” 

“No,” Charles said again. “He asked me _because_ I use crutches. His side of the deal was to heal me.” Erik was silent, and Charles had to quell the urge to try Hank’s mind reading method. “I know it doesn’t make much sense but—”

“It makes perfect sense,” Erik interrupted. “Hank, what was Shaw’s mistake here? Seems to me his plans have worked so far.” 

“I told you, Charles refused, and Shaw cursed him for it. _Mind reading_. _Telepathy._ Well, he can’t read the cursed too well, but—stupid of any Wizard, right? What does he want to do, doom himself? There are so many things we could do, listen in on anything we need. Hell, maybe he could—” 

“Have you forgotten already?” Erik said, his voice dangerously low. Hank went quiet, but only for a moment.

“Of course not,” Hank said. “But we won’t make the same mistakes this time. It’s like a second chance—we were _so_ close.”

“I know how close we were. Did you go to Hank for you curse?”

Once Charles realized he was being spoken to, he said, “No, he found me in the forest. I was going to Feltentown.”

A pause. “On _crutches?_ Are you a complete fool?”

Charles supposed he should have expected the insensitivity with all that Hank had said about the man. He and Hank quickly explained why he’d been in the forest and his encounter with the Wizard of Hellfire, too. He left out the details of his curse. Erik managed to keep his incredulous questions to a minimum. Charles tried not to think about how creepy it was to talk someone who was essentially a shadow, one who refused to come any closer. 

Erik asked one final question. “I don’t understand. If you refused Shaw, why did you leave anyway?”

Hank looked at Charles, like he was interested in the answer as well. Even Calcifer seemed to shimmer in wait. “The Wizard was right, in a way. I didn’t belong in Heartworth. I had no reason to stay. But I wasn’t about to take up his offer just because I decided to leave my fa—leave that life behind.”

“Is the offer is still on the table?” 

Charles decided to skip the Wizard’s haunting last words to him. “Well, yes, I think so. He wouldn’t take ‘no’ as a final answer.”

The man was silent, as if weighing was was said. Hank and Calcifer might have said something in the lull, but Charles didn’t listen. He watched and waited; he felt like more than just his potential “job” was on the line. 

“How do I know you won’t ever turn on us? That you won’t take him up later for whatever reason?” 

Thoughts reeled in his head, and Charles basked for a moment in how they were all _his_. “You’re a wizard aren’t you?” Charles said. “You can hold me to it.”

Hank shifted uncomfortably. Calcifer dimmed, “Bad idea, kid.”

Charles wouldn’t let himself look away from the man. Charles remembered that Erik was supposed to be cursed. _With what?_ “Hank says he’ll help me control what thoughts I hear and don’t hear. I’d do anything for that, and I’d like to…” _Have a purpose. Belong_. “…be useful.”

“You’re sure you want to be held to you word?” Erik asked. “You could be useful, possibly, but I have no reason to trust you. I can’t afford a mole, and I imagine Shaw is itching for one. He enjoys taking advantage of the weak, and he obviously was interested in adding you to his team of henchmen.” 

Hank looked down, guilt so prominent Charles could see it. Charles wondered what Erik meant, but set the question aside. “What’s another curse?” Charles tried to say lightly. It didn’t come right. 

“Curses can break a person,” Erik said. “You have two already.” 

“Two…?” Charles scowled. “My legs aren’t a curse.”

“No?” Charles began to protest, but Erik stepped into Calcifer’s light. He was tall and thin, well built, hair cut short. He couldn’t make out much else. “You’re _sure_?” Erik asked again.

“Uh—” Hank started, “I don’t—”

“I hope you don’t make me regret letting you take on another lost soul, Hank,” Erik said. Then his eyes closed and his hand rose. He made no sound, but Charles saw his lips move. The tips of his fingers glow dark purple. It was over quickly, and before Charles could move, Erik was already walking away. He stopped at the bottom the stairs he came from. “I would have healed you now and then revoked the incentive if you betrayed us, but I don’t have the power to give you working legs. So instead, if you ever accept Shaw's deal, or any other offer of his, you’ll never walk again. Crutches or no.” The man and his long shadow disappeared.

Charles stared at the place Erik had been in a daze.

“Dramatic bastard,” Calcifer said, breaking the silence. “I told you that was a bad idea.”

Hank sounded distressed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I know you the curse won’t affect you if you’re telling the truth about Shaw, but still—Calcifer is right. He should’ve—I should’ve—”

“It’s fine, Hank. Trust matters if I’m going to any use to you. And I want to get to Vince Port as soon as I can, whatever that takes. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t tell Raven he did this,” Hank said. “She’ll like you, I’m sure of it, and she’ll flip if she finds out.”

Charles huffed. “Anything _else_ I shouldn’t say or do?” 

“Don’t ask Erik to do typical wizard stuff. He like’s to pretend he’s above flying, and he leaves shapeshifting to Raven. He hates magician stuff.”

“Pretend is the key word there,” Calcifer said. “Because he plays with telekinesis like an infant would.”

“Don’t ask about his past, either.” Hank added.

“But please, _do_ ask about Erik and Raven’s complicated history,” Calcifer snickered. Charles looked to Hank, confused.

“If you want to get kicked to the curb, sure,” Hank muttered. “Go right ahead.”

“That’s no fun!” Calcifer wined. “You all are no fun. Charles don’t listen to him. If you want a good laugh, ask Erik how many times Raven has broken up with him. Or, _oh ho_ , ask Raven how many times Erik has kissed her.” Calcifer laughed and laughed.

“You’re the only one counting, Calcifer.”

“You know what else I’m counting? How many opportunities you’ve lost to woo her away.” Calcifer entertained himself with more cackling while Hank shook his head.

Charles felt bad for him and changed the subject. “Where will I be staying?”

“Oh,” Hank muttered, tapping his blue lips. Charles remembered the first time he saw wizard change into a bird and fly—after that, nothing so trivial as blue skin could have shocked him. Unfortunately for Hank, the rest of the world wasn’t quite so accepting. “I have a room here for when I stay over every once in a while—but I don’t need it. You can use it.”

Hank began to guide him to the room before he stopped abruptly. “Bloody witches, it’s on the second floor.”

“No worries. My bedroom in Heartworth was on the third floor.” Charles proved himself by beginning up the stairs ahead of him. Hank didn’t reply to that. 

Charles’s new room was small and sparse, but quaint. The large porthole window was drawn open and a dim light on the ceiling lit up the space. “Bathroom’s down the hall, nightclothes are in that dresser there. Make yourself at home I guess, even though it’s not actually my home. Tell Erik, if he asks, that I made the call for you to stay here rather than with me. Alright? My place isn’t fit for long term guests, I’m afraid. I’ll be back tomorrow morning and we can work more on your telepathy.” Hank gave him a bright smile, and Charles returned it. 

“Thank you.” _He has no idea what he’s done for me in only a few hours._

“Read my mind.”

Charles focused hard, searching for the voice in Hank’s head. _“Please don’t give up on us.”_ Charles thought to protest that he would never, but the seriousness he sensed from Hank’s thought was enough to stay quiet. Aloud, Hank added, “Just consider all four of us occupational hazards.” He chuckled and left.

The door shut. “Bye,” Charles said to no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! There's no better way to make my day :)


	4. Chapter 4

Charles woke early the next norming, despite how late he had tossed and turned the night before He changed clothes, washed his face, and went downstairs. He could start being useful by tending to Calcifer. The sun was hidden behind storm clouds that had yet to blow over, but the rain had stopped sometime during the night. 

The temperature in the castle had dipped again, but Charles decided not to mention it. “Good morning,” he said to the weak fire. He added a log to the grate and swept away most of the ashes, leaning on one crutch. Charles’s vision was weakest in the morning, but he could see the flames stretch and shudder. 

“You,” Calcifer said. “You’re nice.” He wrapped himself around the fresh log. “Nobody _ever_ bothers to help me _breathe_ so early in the morning.”

“Stop complaining, Calcifer,” said a voice. “Raven should be up soon enough.”

Charles whipped around, and almost dropped his second crutch. Erik was sitting at the kitchen table. “Oh, hello. Sorry, I…”

“Did you really not see me sitting here?” Erik adjusted a newspaper in his grip. A steaming cup of something sat on the table. “Don’t tell me you’re blind, too.” 

If it was supposed to be a joke, it certainly didn’t come out that way. But it was too early for Charles to take the high road. “No.” He only hoped his vision would hold up well enough to live that lie. 

“I assumed you were going to stay at Hank’s. You’re his little experiment, after all.”

Charles ignored the jibe and answered, “It was his call. He told me to tell you that, if you asked.” 

“Did he tell you why?” 

Charles grew nervous. From across the room, Charles had no idea what facial expressions the man was making. For months he had been able to mostly feel people out by their different tones of voice instead, but Erik had barely any emotion attached to what he said. _Is he angry? Curious? Apathetic? How am I supposed to respond?_ Charles didn’t want to screw up his good situation. 

“Something about his place not being fit for guests.” Charles sat down and warmed his hands by Calcifer, who was quiet, probably asleep again.

“It goes without saying,” Erik said several minutes later, “to not read my mind.”

Charles debated on several responses while trying to quell his offense, but ended up throwing caution to the wind. “Then why’d you say it?”

There was silence again, and Charles resolutely watched the fire.

“That was a good one, pretty boy, but would you not stare at me like that?” Calcifer flared. “I’m as self-conscious as any of you crazies, I’ll have you know.”

Charles flinched. “Oh, sorry.” What else was he supposed to look at? Should he go back upstairs or just wait for Hank by the front door, like he planned? _People are supposed to be easy to read, with or without vision._ And Charles had been an especially good reader recently, too, considering he could literallyread regular people’s minds—uncomfortable was putting his new situation lightly. 

“You’re crutches are dirty by the way. They tracked mud all over the floor last night. If you’re going to live here, you need to carry your weight. Fair enough?” 

Charles turned and stared at him. _Is he mocking me? Did he mean that as a joke or did he not even realize what he said?_ Cain had used the “carry your weight” phrase on him half a dozen times before. “Sorry, I…guess I was too tired to notice.” Charles looked at the floor, which was, of course, dark brown. _How am I supposed to see where the mud is?_

Erik let out a low sigh. “There’s a rag in the closet down the hall,” he pointed to the hall across from the staircase. “Just get what’s on the stairs. Raven’s sweeping the place later anyway, so she can get the rest.” 

Charles mentally sighed in relief. Once he grabbed the white piece of cloth sitting inside the door of the closet, he turned back for the staircase. He made his way to the top and worked down, swiping generally. He did it as quick as he could, already embarrassed he was doing it at all. The castle as so quiet it was eerie. Finally, he made it to the bottom stair. 

He looked at cloth. It was still white. 

Charles just stared at it, completely confused. He leaned against the rail and picked up one of his crutches. The bottom was a only a tad dirty, no signs of dried mud at all. Giving Erik the benefit of the doubt, he checked the other crutch. Clean. 

Charles didn’t know what to think. Was this man as bad as Cain? Playing pranks and humiliating him? Erik wasn’t laughing, though. Charles couldn’t even tell if the man was smiling or not. So he just stared, feeling numb. _It’s not a matter of getting out of Heartworth. It’s a matter of getting out of me._

“A little over the top, don’t you think?” Charles asked, angry rising quickly. 

“I don’t tolerate lying.”

“Well I do,” Charles snapped. He gripped his crutches and moved back to his chair by Calcifer. “When people apologize for the fact I use crutches, for example. I get that a lot. Those people don’t actually care, of course. In fact, they’re usually thinking about how ugly they are, how terrible it would be if _they_ had them, how pathetic it is someone my age is still using them. Some even wonder if I fake it so I never have to go to war.” Only vehement, and usually insulting, assurances by Kurt and his mother convinced people otherwise.

Charles wondered how he had the courage to say anything about this. He suspected it was because there were no eyes to meet, no expressions to confront. Master Erik was a faceless man to him. 

Erik didn’t answer, but instead of making Charles even angrier, it deflated him. Eventually, he just felt childish. Of all the judgements Charles imagined were running through Erik’s mind, ‘immature’ seemed the most likely. Charles couldn’t be more than a few years younger than the man, though, judging from what he could hear and what little he could see. Of course, mature in age and mature in mind were vastly different things—Charles would know. 

“How did you know? That I lied?” Charles asked. He wished Hank would hurry up, but according to the clock, the day was still too young. 

This time Erik answered immediately. “No one can stare at Calcifer as if he were a normal fire. Not when he’s staring back. If you couldn’t tell he was staring back…Why _is_ your sight uncorrected, anyway?”

 _Oh, so now he asks._ Charles took a deep breath, gathering himself. _Let it go,_ Charles told himself. “Part of the curse, I think. It can’t be fixed. I’m sorry for lying.”

There was a loud slam, and Charles jumped half out of his seat. He turned and saw that it had been Erik’s newspaper. “Would you _stop?_ ”

Apparently Charles let his anger go just for Erik to pick it up. “What?”

“Stop apologizing, for god’s sake. And you wonder why people walk all over you.”

Charles stared at him in shock. “I don’t…what? People don’t walk all over me.” 

Erik stood up. “Then what do you call what I just did to test you?”

“Being an _ass_ ,” Charles said, determined to stay sitting even if he couldn’t stay calm. Who did this man think he was? “If I let people walk all over me, I would have stayed in Heartworth.”

“From what you told me, you seem to have let them drive you out of your own home. You’re so choked with self pity you thought it would be somehow valiant to run away and sail off into the horizon. If you were escaping ridicule, you’re a fool to think it’s limited to Heartless Heartworth.” Erik cocked his head. “Or were you thinking people would finally feel shame if you died alone crossing the forest? Because you definitely would have died if Hank hadn’t found you—whether by that rogue or dehydration, it doesn’t matter. The only person feeling ashamed when you died would be you.” He stood there for another moment, staring at Charles, then sat back down again. 

Charles had everything and nothing to say. _Does he just like ridiculing people for fun? Talking peopled down for pleasure?_ He turned back to the fire, but remembering Calcifer, stared at the front door instead. A thousand quips ran through his mind, each more scathing than the next—or more self pitying, if Erik were the judge. Charles said none of them.

After a few long moments, Erik said, “I can’t tell if you’re mourning your pride or actually thinking about what I said.”

“Neither, don’t flatter yourself,” Charles replied, keeping his eyes on the door. “I was thinking about how soon I could go out, get my crutches dirty, and track mud all over the floor. You’d clean it up, of course, since it would be your turn to carry the weight.” Just then, Charle realized he was still clutching the white rag in his hand. “Will you look at this, Calcifer? I’ve gotten this rag so unbelievably dirty. I’ll go see if there’s another one upstairs.” Charles got up on his crutches, tossed the rag in the fire, and went up the steps. He ignored Calcifer’s frantic complaining. He ignored the shock emanating from the other side of the room. 

  


*

  


Charles sat on his bed, panicking. _What have I done?_ Sure, his exit made him feel the wonderful exact _opposite_ of being walked all over, but not for long. _I’ve defied my boss, threatened vandalization, and assaulted a fire demon with a rag._ He was going to lose his job without ever knowing what it really was.

When the door opened, for a split second Charles was terrified it was Erik come to push him out the porthole. But it was only Hank, and Charles felt the disappointment of both facing his termination and not being put out of his misery by force. 

Hank slowly closed the bedroom door behind himself and turned to face him. For a moment, they just stared at each other. 

Then Hank asked, “What did you _do_?” Charles shook his head and shrugged, but Hank wasn’t waiting for an answer. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Anything that makes Erik smile will most likely threaten what precious sanity I have left.”

“I’m sor—wait, what?”

“Don’t make me think about it, let’s just go.” But no sooner did he say the words, did another blue person with deep red hair—and no clothes to speak of—burst into the room, practically slamming Hank into the wall. “What happened?” Raven stage whispered. “Oh, hey Hank!” Poor Hank look horrified, and Raven looked the exact opposite. She spoke normally once she closed the door, crowding the small space even more. 

“Who are you and what did you do to Erik? Are you a wizard?” She said with a gleaming white smile. When Charles stared at her dumbly, the smile faltered. Her body rippled, and Charles was looking a pale, blonde girl. “No, then. Newbie, huh? I would think Hank here would have conditioned you.”

The cold tone snapped Charles back to attention. “Oh, no—I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else. You don’t have to…” He flushed almost as dark as Hank. He tried to save himself, “Do you mean did Hank condition me to how pretty you would be? Because I’m afraid not. Sorry, Hank.” 

Raven shifted back to blue and smiled more genuinely. “You’re sweet. Is that what inspired Mr. Wizard down there to actually tend to Calcifer’s fiery butt for once?”

“Uh, no.” 

She just laughed. “Yeah, didn’t think so. Sweetness has never inspired that man to do anything. What’s your name?”

“Charles.” 

“I’m Raven. Erik managed to tell me that you’re Hank’s new protégé or something, but that’s about it. He didn’t even scold me for waking up late again, which is why I had to meet you immediately to thank you. He’s always on my ass about something, and I’ve already forgotten what it is this time.” 

Charles didn’t know what to make of this turn of events. He wasn’t getting thrown out? 

“Well,” Hank said. “We should probably get to my place to practice. Would—would you like to come, Raven?”

“Thanks, but I have a Sorcerers meeting this afternoon. I’ll see you both tonight, though? Hank, you should put together a welcome dinner!” Raven turned to Charles. “Erik and I can’t cook to save our lives. Literally. If it wasn’t for Hank, we would have starved to death. See you later!” Hank opened the door for her and she waved and left.

“I think,” Charles said in her wake. “She’s pretty intimidating to say the least…but not terrifying. Come on, Hank, why don’t you ask her out? Is she…currently back together with…?”

Hank banged the back of his head on the door. “No.” Charles’s expectant expression didn’t relent. Hank let out a sigh. “She’s still in love with him. I—I don’t know if it’s a good idea to try and…if…” 

“What does Erik say?”

Hank scoffed. “He doesn’t know I have a crush on her.” 

“He _what?_ ” Charles was too surprised to laugh. “Hank, you’re the most—”

“Obvious person, yes, so Calcifer tells me. But not to Erik, apparently. Not that that’s really a surprise…”

Charles grinned. “You’re smart, funny…all the things girls like, right? You’re both blue, too, so you’re a perfect match. Why does she love _him?_ None of this makes sense.” _What doesn’t make any sense,_ Charles thought, _is why I’m harping on it._ He almost sounded like his gossipy mother.

“I know. It’s…well.” Hank turned and put his furry hand on the doorknob. “Let me keep it short: while Raven’s romantic gestures have been laser focused on Erik for as long as I’ve known her, Erik couldn’t make a romantic gesture if Shaw’s death depended on it. And hence, all the drama.” He opened the door. “Ready to go? It’s started raining again. I think there’s a raincoat in the bottom drawer. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Charles quelled the guilt rising inside him. He knew he should have shut up sooner, if he wanted to stop risking his job. But then again, he should have shut up with Erik, too, and he survived that. 

He got the raincoat and met Hank downstairs. When he reached the front door, he noticed a strange circle above it. In the lighting, he could see it was a cross section of four colors, but nothing more detailed than that. He would have to ask about it later. Or see it for himself if he ever got his vision back. 

Erik wasn’t around to see them off. 

  


*

  


The trip to Hank’s house took longer than one the night before, with the castle moving around during the night. But Hank jogging with Charles on his back, it wasn’t so bad. His legs hurt from the position, but the rush of fresh air alleviated his headache enough for the pain to be worth it. 

Charles only asked one question the whole way. “Where is the castle going?”

Hank didn’t answer for a while. “No where right now. It moves around to keep rogues off our back, and regular sorcerers, too.”

“It just walks around the forest aimlessly?”

“It stays in the vicinity of the Five Cities: Heartworth, Feltentown, York, Youngling, and Ovelton. The forest is bigger than most people think, and more central, too.”

“Oh.” Charles had never been to any of those cities. He assumed he must have visited Feltentown briefly when he came from Vince Port, but he didn’t remember it. 

To Charles’s surprise, Hank’s home was actually a home, built mostly with stone and wood and metal. “Wow,” Charles said. “This is really nice. Where did you get all the supplies?” 

“Raven helped. She shifted into a scary looking guy to buy lumber and such in Ovelton, no questions asked. Help me built it herself.”

“That was nice of her,” Charles said. _Didn’t mention Erik_. 

“Yes, definitely.” Hank let him down near the front door—solid steel. “It was fun, actually.” He sounded nostalgic, and Charles had to smile.

“I’m afraid I’ll be no help if you ever want to put on additions.”

Hank smiled and gestured Charles inside, then closed the door against the wind and rain. “Let’s just focus on what you _can_ do. Go ahead and sit by the fireplace. Don’t worry, it won’t talk back.” 

The house was only three rooms: the living room-kitchen, the bedroom, and the bathroom. It was much cozier than the castle, and though the fireplace itself was smaller, it felt warmer, too, once Hank got it going. Despite all this, it did have a slight doctor’s office feel. Two threadbare couches faced each other rather than the fire. Charles rubbed his thighs; lingering soreness from the trip over beginning to flare up like the fire next to him. 

“Are you hurt?” Hank asked when he sat down across from him. “I could—”

“I’m fine. I was wondering…what exactly will I be doing, once I can hear thoughts more at will?” 

“Oh, plenty of things.” Hank rubbed his hands together eagerly, matting his blue fur. “Remember the other girl I mentioned who could read minds? Her name was Jean. When she worked for us, she managed to do all sorts of useful things. She was a witch, too, also cursed by Shaw. She liked to work on her sorcerer skills more than her mind reading, but I worked with her often enough. She listened into sorcerer meetings and gatherings. She worked closely with Shaw, as a double agent of sorts. She could hear plenty of what Shaw thought, which was very helpful—he cursed her with mind reading to help him read _our_ minds, and any other enemies’ thoughts. We were still trying to take him down then, too, but…anyway, we’re not going to put you in that situation. We still need you to hear the thoughts of those in the meetings though. _Especially_ for the Sorcerer’s Gala this winter. There will be all sorts important people there, including royalty, that we need to know are good or evil.”

“Good or evil? Is it that black and white?” 

“To Erik, yes, and Raven agrees with him for the most part. To me, nothing is black and white, but I work for them. The important thing is stopping Shaw and anyone he’s working with from trying to ‘recruit’ more henchmen to do his dirty work. The rule of thumb is, if there’s a crime with magic involved, then Shaw’s involved. Illegal potions, poisons, witch trafficking, prison breaks, murder, and his specialty, cursing everyone not willing to either join him or turn a blind eye to what he does. He’s an invasive weed in the kingdom that needs to be cut off at the roots. Eradicated. Make sense?”

Charles nodded, but the list of crimes was hard to process. 

“Good. If we know who is and isn’t corrupted, we can figure out who to recruit to our side to stop him,” Hank huffed, “Of course, we’d be recruiting people without offering them underhanded deals.” Then he shook his head. “Ok, enough of that. Let’s do what we did in the forest again. Focus on my thoughts. Tell me what three numbers I’m thinking.”

It didn’t take too long to catch Hank’s thought, _“Five, four, one.”_ Charles said it back to him.

“Okay. Tell me five numbers.” _“Five, four, one, six—”_

Suddenly, he retreated. “Wait. I felt…never mind.” There had been a strange pricking sensation.

Charles tried again. _“Five, four, one, six, eight.”_ Charles repeated it, and Hank looked pleased. The strings of numbers slowly increased, and the pricks Charles felt came and went. At least they weren’t painful.

“Great, you’re catching on fast. Your consistency hearing full thoughts is promising. Now I’m going to go to the other room, and we’ll do the same thing. Distance wasn’t a strong suit of Jean’s, so I think we should work on it sooner rather than later.” He left through the wooden door to the second room. Charles grinned when he man had to duck to get through. 

“Four numbers! Go!” 

Charles listened. It was harder, searching for Hank’s mind when he couldn’t see his face. _“Two, nine——our.”_ Charles blinked and focused harder. _“Two, nine, three, four.”_ Charles yelled the combination. 

“Five! Go!” _“Three, one, two, seven—”_

Charles grabbed his head when another prick unexpectedly pierced his mind. This time is _was_ painful, but Charles was determined not to let anomalies of his permanent headache get in the way of his training. _“Three, one, two—”_

“Agh…” The prick came again, harder, like it was scraping into the bone between his eyes. _“Three, one—”_ Charles stopped listening as his headache began to pound.

The door opened. “Charles? You hearing this?”

Charles sat straight up and said, “Yeah, just not the whole thing. It’s definitely harder.” He smiled. “Let me try again.” Hank nodded and Charles looked into his mind again. The pain exacerbated with every attempt, but finally Charles heard the full, _“Three, one, two, seven, nine.”_ Charles yelled the combination. 

His voice must have sounded off, since Hank came back again, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just the headache that never goes away, you know?”

“I…I forgot about that.” He sat down and peered at Charles’s forehead like he could see it. His face looked blurrier than ever. “Are you serious? It never leaves?”

“Not since the Wizard cursed me.”

“How long ago was that again?”

“Um…” Charles found it hard to concentrate with an invisible needle pressing into him. “Four months I think.” 

“What? And it _never_ goes away?”

“Never. It only gets better and worse.” Charles tried to collect himself, but when he opened his eyes fully, the pain seared again. 

“Have you tried—”

“I’ve tried _everything_ ,” Charles interrupted. “Absolutely everything. I spent nearly all my savings on doctors, but this headache is _cursed_. Nothing has fixed it. Nothing _can_.”

Charles focused on massaging his forehead while Hank stared at him.

“I’m sorry,” Hank said, “but that doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does,” Charles gritted out. “I didn’t accept his damned deal, so why not make my curse as painful as possible?” Charles was mostly angry because they had barely gotten anywhere in training; he had been looking forward for his curse to _not_ be solely a source of worthless pain. 

Hank shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. Erik, Raven, and I know our fair share about curses. They can come in almost a limitless amount of forms, and a lot of them have side effects. Raven’s said that her shifting used to really hurt in the beginning, and Erik—don’t tell him I told you this—almost went mad because of his. I was itchy for months because of my damned fur, and at first I thought it was a cruel element to my curse, too. But it went away, just like the pain of shifting eventually faded for Raven. Going a little insane was, in all fairness, inevitable for Erik. But it wasn’t irreversible.”

“So my headache is a side effect of the curse and my eyesight is a side effect of the headache. Wonderful. So what? If I can’t make it go away, it might as well be part of the curse.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Charles, really.” Hank sounded thoughtful rather than sympathetic. It made Charles hopeful and frustrated at the same time. “It makes sense that a mind curse like hearing thoughts, in theory, would have a headache as a side effect.”

“In theory?”

“Yes, because—and this is what doesn’t make sense—Jean didn’t have one. She had the same curse as you, from Shaw himself, of hearing thoughts. I guarantee you, if Erik extracted the details of your curse, it would match up to her’s, same incantation and all. Hearing thoughts is a hard affliction to cast on someone, very hard. I don’t understand why Jean’s pain lasted only a few days while yours has lasted months, along with serious repercussions.”

Charles said nothing; what was he supposed to say? _Interesting analysis, but it won’t solve my issue_. Hank had done too much for him to deserve any blame. “Maybe my body just can’t handle it as well. That’s wouldn’t exactly come as a surprise.”

They ended up sitting by the fire for a long time. Every time Charles glanced up at Hank, the man was staring at the floor, elbows on his knees, deep in thought. Charles use the time to calm down and keep his headache from getting worse. Eventually Hank sat up.

“You can’t go on like this. Not for you own sake, and not for our mission’s. If traditional medicine doesn’t help, then maybe something less traditional will do the trick. I’ll do all the research I can. I also think Erik should check to see if the headache is a curse in and of itself, just in case. I doubt it is, but we shouldn’t leave any stones unturned.” 

Charles wanted to feel optimistic about taking action, but he didn’t like what taking action would lead to. “Can’t—can’t Raven do it? She’s a witch, right? An official one?”

“She could.” Hank scratched the fur on the side of his head. “Extracting curse information isn’t something she’s done often, but it isn’t too difficult.” He didn’t bother asking Charles why he would prefer her. “I’ll…I’ll…”

“I’ll ask her,” Charles said. “Don’t worry about it.” 

But Hank looked more worried than relieved. “If you say so. I’ll look up some magical remedies and we can experiment. I think we should—”

“I don’t want to stop training,” Charles said firmly. “That’s my condition for any experimenting.”

“But—”

“We can do both,” Charles said. He was bluffing, but he didn’t want to be a patient, or at least not just a patient to Hank. “What better way to see if your remedies work than to practice telepathy?”

Hank was skeptical. “If it’s your condition. I don’t like it, though.”

Charles said nothing more. _Please let me train._ He couldn’t pin down why he felt more desperate to improve his curse than his health. 

“Well, we won’t start today. Half my books are here and half are at the castle. I’ll gather them all here this afternoon and look over them. I guess I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning again, unless you’d rather train at the castle?”

“ _No,_ ” Charles said too forcefully. There was no way he was going to practice anything with Erik and Calcifer around to make fun of him. 

Hank laughed. “Just checking.” Hank sat up straighter. “I’ll see you tonight for dinner, then.”

Charles’s eyebrows rose. “She was serious?” 

“It’ll be a nice surprise if she wasn’t, don’t you think?” 

Charles smiled. “As long as you take all the credit for putting it together. Raven can’t look over all your good qualities forever.”

Hank blushed. “It’s not like Erik would ever bother taking credit. You feeling up to it?”

 _Dinner with friends? Yes. Dinner with Erik? No._ Charles tried to meet Hank’s eyes, but gave up. “Sure, but, you won’t tell Erik, will you? That you’re helping me with this?”

“I don’t have to, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Thanks.” _I’m not giving him any more ammunition than he already has._ “I’m ready if you are.”


	5. Chapter 5

Raven was right. Hank cooked a better meal than Charles ever remembered having. Steak, potatoes, vegetables, soup, all to perfection. He was used to bruised fruits and overcooked chicken. His parents and Cain usually ate out somewhere, with someone, and Charles had never known if they made excuses not to eat with him, or if they just forgot he existed when it came time for a sit down meal. 

The best part was that Erik didn’t show up. 

“This couldn’t get any better,” Raven unwittingly agreed. She was as blue and naked as ever. “If Erik decided not to come and spoil our little party just to spite me, things are looking up.”

“What was he mad about this time?” Hank asked.

“Let me think…ooh yes, I forgot to snatch him the tentative guest list for the winter Gala when I had the chance.” She shook her head. “I keep telling him, it hardly matters if he knows who’s going beforehand or not.”

“And I keep telling you, yes it _does_.” All heads turned to the bottom of the stairs.

“Erik! I was hoping you would come down halfway through dinner and argue,” Raven said. Charles could hear she wasn’t genuinely irritated. 

“Sorry to dash your hopes, then, because I was just leaving.”

“Oh, is that so?” Raven said. “Why?”

Charles thought it was odd she asked _why_ instead of _where_ , and maybe that was the reason Erik didn’t reply immediately. When he did, the sarcasm in the words eclipsed Raven’s and then some. “Fresh air.”

They watched Erik cross the room, there was a click Charles didn’t recognize, and the door opened and shut. Again, he hadn’t come close enough for Charles to see his face. Charles had yet to assess if he actually wanted to.

Raven let out a big sigh. “Wonder why…never mind. So Charles, where did you say you were from again?”

Charles skipped a lot more of his boring life in Heartworth and his justifications for going into the forest alone. The entire time he spoke, he could hear the echo of Erik’s scathing comments about his underlying intentions. _Was he right?_ His story sounded less and less substantial in his own mind. 

He heard thunder outside, then the pouring patter of rain on the walls and windows. “This weather just won’t let up, will it?” Raven said. Hank nodded, but Charles just stared out the window beside the kitchen table. The clouds blocked out the last few rays of the sun as it set. 

Topics of conversation were driven almost solely by Raven, but sometimes Hank asked her or Charles a question, too. He didn’t bring up Charles’s training or healing. When they were finished eating, Hank offered to clean up. Raven leaned closer to Charles across the table. “Just so you know, it’s best not to bother him when he’s getting ‘fresh air’ or whatever he says as an excuse.”

“I rather doubt I could track him down on crutches.”

He couldn’t read her expression when she said. “Just keep it in mind.” She leaned back again. “I feel bad again. I promised Erik that damned list for weeks. I was supposed to steal a copy at a sorcerer’s meeting a while back.”

“But if it doesn’t matter…”

“I suppose he’s half right. Even if he did research every name and get an idea of who might be worth allying up with, he wouldn’t be able to take any action. Well—he could use Hank and me, but I think approaching anyone too soon gives Shaw and his henchmen too much time to find us own and take out anyone we approach. Don’t you think so, Hank?”

“Uh, yes, I-I agree,” Hank stuttered. 

“See? There’s nothing Erik could do. He just has to wait.” She rubbed her blue face with her head. “Or maybe I could try to catch a glimpse again. It won’t be easy, since it’s probably sitting around the Royal Sorcerer’s office somewhere.”

“You could get into her office?” Charles asked.

“Sure, if I had a good reason. I work for her after all. Sometimes I work directly under her for assignments, but not often.”

Charles was impressed. “Does Erik work under her, too?”

“Huh?” Raven hesitated. “Oh, uh, no. He’s not…” She looked up to Hank.

“He’s not official,” Hank said. “He’s as good as any other wizard, usually better, but he hasn’t taken the oath.”

“How did he not take the oath when he went to the Sorcerer’s Academy?” Charles hardly knew anything about the world of sorcery. It was something most locals in Heartworth pretended didn’t exist unless it was for their entertainment. He suspected that kind of entertainment was exactly the kind of “magician” work Hank said Erik despised.

“He studied here, actually, on his own. He couldn’t…” Hank trailed off just like Raven had. _What are they trying to talk around?_

“He was too much of a lazy bum to go to proper school,” Raven said, clapping her hands together. “I’m beat. Thanks _so_ much for dinner, Hank. It’s always great to have you over to mooch off of your amazing cooking skills.” She laughed, and Charles could see why Hank was so infatuated, if not in love. 

Hank blushed purple. “Of course. Anytime.” 

Raven rushed off to bed, and Hank left as well, after picking up the books he needed and telling Charles he’d be back sometime tomorrow to pick him up. Charles felt bad that Hank was doing this rushing back and forth from the castle to his cottage, but at least Charles had a better excuse now. If Erik was the kind of homeowner that snooped around everyone’s rooms, Charles didn’t want him finding anything compromising. He knew Erik would just rat him out again and say he was a child for making a fuss over a headache. 

He slumped in one of the chairs next to the fireplace. “You’ve been quiet, Calcifer,” he said. 

“What was I supposed to say, pretty boy? I can’t make fun of Hank when Raven’s around or he’ll douse me. Hey, do those crutches hurt? I’ve been wondering.”

“You? Really?” Charles grinned, a little somber. “Yes, sometimes.”

“How long?”

“How long have I had them? As long as I can remember.” 

“Huh,” Calcifer swirled around in his grate. 

Since no one else was around, Charles decided to ask something. “You heard Erik at dinner, didn’t you? Do you know where he was going?”

“Eh? Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.” Charles couldn’t think of a good answer on the fly. Calcifer just crackled and whooshed for a while. Charles tried not to stare at him, but it was difficult. “I’m sorry, by the way, about the rag. It was pretty awful of me to do that to you.”

The fire snickered. “You better be. But it _was_ the first time he switched my logs in two years.”

“What?” Charles’s eyes went wide. “Two years?”

“Yup.” A short lull followed, like Calcifer was thinking. “Got it into his head that he should hand fate over to my ashes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ugh. I can still smell that rag.” 

“Is there something I can do?” 

“Yes, there’s something you can do. On the left side of the doorframe there’s a lever. See it?”

“No—”

“Turn it pointing up. Go get me some sea powder, it’ll help with the stink.” 

Charles stared. “A lev—what?”

“I’m _waiting_.”

It wasn’t hard to find now that he was looking for it. Charles was shocked that he hadn’t noticed the metal level before. Without a clue of what it would do, he turned it to the north position. There was a click—one Charles now recognized. He opened the front door. 

He didn’t face the cold, damp outside air. A light had turned on automatically, revealing a small room. He stepped forward and the door closed behind himself. Surrounding him were countless vials and jars and a few pots and cauldrons. How was he supposed to find sea powder in all this? What did sea powder even look like? Charles realized belatedly that there was no way he could read the labels. 

On the right side of the room was another door, and Charles opened that one to a much larger space that Charles immediately recognized as a shop. It was about the same size as _The Wardrobe_ , with windows on both sides of the entrance. He must have just come out from a storage closet. 

Moonlight, unobstructed by clouds, illuminated the counter and shelves. What filled both, Charles couldn’t quite discern, but a strange shimmering of light in the distance drew him to the front windows. Charles squinted as hard as he could, but he couldn’t see.

“You don’t know what you’re look at, do you?”

Charles was glad for his crutches, or else he would have fallen backward. “Who—oh.” It was Erik, staring out the window from the shadowy corner—still faceless, since Charles could only barely make out profile. “Where…” Charles faltered, his heart pounding madly in surprise. “Where are we?” 

“Veronne City. You have terrible peripheral vision.”

“Veronne…how?” _We’re hundreds, if not thousands of miles from Heartworth,_ Charles thought.

Erik ignored his question. “So you know what you’re looking at now?”

Charles squinted again. His eyes were no help, but the glimmering suddenly made sense. “Oh. The ocean,” Charles said in awe. “I haven’t seen it in years. Not since I left Vince Port.” The docks were hardly a half-mile away, if that.

“You’re family never went to Feltentown, to the ports?” 

“Never took me. They said I wouldn’t be able to keep up.” Erik scoffed at him and Charles scowled. “I didn’t _agree_ with them. I could have easily kept up. They’re as slow as cargo airships.” 

“You really can’t fix your vision?”

“I don’t know,” Charles said. It was closer to the truth than the last time Erik asked, but still not the whole one. _If Hank can’t fix my headache, then my vision is a lost cause._

“I’m sorry.”

Charles was taken aback. “Well. It’s not your fault.” 

“No, I mean for this morning,” Erik shifted, keeping his face turned towards the window. “I’m not sure why I got all up in arms, usually I save that for Raven.” Charles might have heard a smirk in his voice. 

“Ah.” Charles didn’t really, but he dreaded a lull in conversation now. “People like me are prone to self pity, I know. We shouldn’t be trained to apologize so much, I know. But we are. Self pity was the one possession I was allowed to keep for myself, so can you really blame me for letting it build into delusions of grandeur? 

“Yes. Hobbling into the forest is hardly grand. Not even a delusional kind of grand.”

Charles felt like laughing at such absurd insensitivity. “But it was, to me. It was supposed to be the start of a new life, not on anyone’s terms. Sounds awfully tempting when you first let yourself consider it. You don’t want to think of practicalities.”

Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t a lull. Charles could hear the muted sound of waves crashing. “I thought I was thinking of the all the practicalities when I designed this home,” Erik said. “I thought I was being smart, including a shop in a busy oceanfront village. A business, a home, a sanctuary, an escape. What more do you need to survive?”

“Friends,” Charles said. He’d always thought loneliness would be the death of him, not sickness or falling down the stairs. It was one of the reasons he’d felt so compelled to leave. 

Erik looked at him, and Charles finally could see his basic features. If the light reflected just right, Charles could see his eyes were green. 

“If only I had been as smart as you.” Erik wasn’t mocking this time. “How did you get in here anyway? I thought you wouldn’t have been able to make out the dial.”

“What dial?”

Erik stared at him. “How did you get in here?”

“Calcifer told me to turn a lever an find him some sea powder. Do you know what that is?”

“I run a potion shop, of course I do.” 

“You run…oh.”

“What did you think this place was?” Mocking seemed to be default for Master Erik. 

“I’ve never seen a potion in my life, let alone been in a place that sells them.”

“Still. You can’t read, either?” 

“Not unless the words are as big as your castle.” 

“How have you _survived_ this long?”

“Do you have sea powder or not?” 

“What did Calcifer say he needed it for?”

“Smelling bad? From when I…?”

Erik huffed a laugh. “Tried to smother him? Well, sea powder won’t help him smell nice, but it will get him high, which is what I suppose is what he wants it for. He’ll never get any from me.”

“He probably knew you were here to stop me,” Charles said. “Why did he bother to ask?”

“Maybe he thought it would be funny, who knows.” Erik sighed. “More likely to be a joke on me than on you.” 

“What’s the joke?”

“Like I said, who knows.”

They stood in silence for a while. “If you wanted fresh air, why are you standing in here?” Charles asked. If Erik shrugged, it was too small for Charles to see. “I can hear the waves. Why not go outside?” 

“Not tonight,” Erik said. “Feel free to go out yourself, though.”

Charles put his hand on the doorknob, but he felt a stab of pain in his leg. Charles decided it wouldn’t be stupid enough to try walking alone in the dark again. But he wasn’t going to give Erik the satisfaction of telling him that. 

“Thanks, but I’m tired. Mind if I open a window instead? More than one way to get fresh air, you know.”

Erik hesitated. “Sure. I…sure.” 

Charles leaned a crutch on the wall and felt along the windowsill for the hatch. When he saw Erik come closer to help, he said, “I got it. I’m not completely incapable.” 

“Alright,” Erik backed off. “Good luck lifting that thing. It hasn’t been opened in years.” 

Charles paused and glared at the window, then Erik—which was awkward to do, considering he couldn’t really meet his eyes. He unlocked the hatch and stepped away, crossing his arms. At least Erik showed some struggle opening it, but once he lifted it up the first few inches, a few more feet wasn’t hard. The window was huge and nearly reached the floor. Charles took the liberty of sitting down. He immediately felt a cool breeze, and the waves were louder. It was more than music to his ears—it was balm. 

He closed his eyes, since they weren’t exactly adding to the experience. Charles wished he remembered more about Vince Port, if he had ever gone to the ocean with his father. Would he have used his crutches, or was he carried? Charles smiled when he thought about how Hank was likely three times as strong than his father was. 

He imagined Hank and Raven walking along the shoreline, but the thought was so ridiculous—Hank being too afraid to hold her hand, Raven distracted by the ships—he laughed. 

“What?” 

Charles opened his eyes and saw Erik was sitting too, with no more than two feet between them. “You and Raven are together, right? Well, I just can’t imagine you’re the kind of person who likes long walks on the beach.”

Erik was silent so long that Charles began to believe he’d crossed some line. But eventually he said, “She is. At least, I think so. She’s hard to understand sometimes.”

“Really? She seems nice.”

“She can be, if she wants to. She’s…fickle. One day I’m the love of her life, the next I’m the bane of her existence. I don’t know which one is the exaggeration.”

“If I were to guess, probably both.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with you,” Erik said. 

There was Calcifer’s question to ask, but Charles wasn’t sure if it would lighten the mood or make it darker. “Calcifer said I would laugh if I knew how many times Raven broke up with you.”

“He did?”

“To be fair, Hank warned me against it.”

“Good old Hank.” Then he sighed. “Four times, over the course of four years or so. The funny part is those are the official ones. If I were to count all the breakups that lasted a few _days_ , then…well, I guarantee you Calcifer’s the only one counting.” 

Charles stared out at the glimmering water. “I suggest you don’t try your hand at love potions,” Charles said.

Erik laughed. It was strangely satisfying to hear. 

“No offense,” Charles said, “but you don’t make sense.” 

Erik quieted and looked at Charles again. Charles had never felt so anxious to know someone’s expression before in his life, but there was nothing for it. But maybe he didn’t need to know.

“Am I supposed to?”

  


*

  


Their conversation was cut short when Raven burst in saying Shaw had “sent” Erik a message. His messages did not come in the form of letters. Calcifer had stopped the castle, and they all left the Veronne shop. 

Charles and Erik stayed just inside the front door while Raven suffered the rain of the forest with Hank, who must have arrived at some point recently. He was bowed over one of three bodies sprawled on the mud and grass. After a minute or so, Raven ran back up to the steps. 

“Just need to get something,” she said, disappearing around the corner to the hall closet. She dashed out the door with a huge brown sack. Charles briefly wondered if the blue scales that covered her kept her warm, too. Charles could feel the wind was much harsher here than in Veronne City. The next time Raven returned, it was with Hank, carrying the sack, which looked heavy and smelled foul. One of the bodies must have been inside.

Charles backed out of the way as they shut the door, pulled the lever up again, and entered the potion shop. He didn’t know whether to follow them or stay out of the way. He decided he wouldn’t be useful hanging around, so he warmed his hands by Calcifer. 

“How did Raven know Shaw had left…whatever he left?” 

“It was _me_ who saw it. I see everything out there. I saw a couple of goons leave the thing out in the open and run into the trees again. Shaw’s goons.” Calcifer’s flames flared. “I yelled at Raven till she woke up, and she used her charm and witchy-ness to get Hank over here in record time.”

“What was it?” Charles asked. He sat down willed his headache not to worsen. “Do you know who it is?”

“A dead rogue,” Calcifer grumbled. “Legs hacked off at the knees. Hank said he recognized it, I think.” 

Even by the fire, Charles felt cold. _It couldn’t be the same one, could it? The same one Hank saved me from?_ His gut twisted with certainty that it was. “How is that a message?”

“I think Shaw plants an invisible message in the things he leaves for Erik to extract, like he does with curses.”

Charles didn’t understand why Shaw still remembered him, yet he was sure cutting off half the rogue’s _legs_ was a nod to Charles. He wondered what the invisible message would say—lies that would turn the others against him? Charles put too much pressure on his left leg when he leaned forward causing another spasm of pain to rip through him. It lasted longer than usual, and Charles gritted his teeth. When it was over, exhaustion fell on him like a wave. He decided he wouldn’t get ahead of himself; he was going to go to bed. 

“I’m going to head upstairs, I guess. Mind telling Erik if he asks?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Thanks. Goodnight, Calcifer.”

The stairs were especially hard to climb that evening. He stumbled into bed without changing. He expected to go straight to sleep, but his mind wouldn’t let up about the rogue. Was he being narcissistic or did Shaw really know he was with Erik? Charles eyes grew wide. _He found Erik. Was it because of me?_ Because as it turned out, Charles had indeed done what the Wizard wanted him to do four months ago. 

On an instinct, Charles touched his legs. For the first time, the pain was a relief—better than nothing, in his case. So Erik’s curse didn’t apply if Charles accidentally did what Shaw wanted. The idea was hardly comforting. 

He sat up, and his head swayed from dizziness. His headache was pounding again. _Erik has to realize what I did. That it was an accident._ The curse sparing him paralysis didn’t mean Erik would necessarily spare him from blame.

Charles knew he was getting ahead of himself again, that he wasn’t thinking straight, but he found himself hobbling down the stairs again. The only light to guide him to the front door was Calcifer, who muttered something to him—Charles was too focused on finding Erik to listen. He turned the lever up and awkwardly got the door open in his haste. He went through the back closet, vials tinkling, and he glanced around the shop. 

Erik was alone again, staring at the mutilated body laid out on the counter. Somehow it didn’t smell, but Charles attributed that mercy to one of the hundreds of potions sitting around. 

“Where’s Raven?” Charles asked, suddenly too nervous to say his piece.

Erik nodded to the shop door leading to the streets.“She’s out in the city, buying an ingredient I need to dissolve this. I’m not going to throw it back in the forest like garbage.” His tone revealed nothing.

“Erik…” Charles felt rooted to the spot. “I had no idea—it didn’t even occur to me, when Hank mentioned he was looking for you—that I…” He tried to collect he thoughts to say something coherent. “I didn’t put two and two together—I didn’t mean to lead him here, I swear.”

“He knows I live here,” Erik said. “He’s always known.”

Charles gaped at him. “Then why—”

“When he tried to make a deal with you, he didn’t mean he wanted to find where I lived. That’s just the script he uses. He’s used it on others like you before.” He paused, as if he had to collect himself, too. “You see, he usually gets them to accept, they find my castle, and try to get inside. But I have Calcifer detect anyone with a blessing of his before they reach the front step to knock. They, obviously having made a deal with the devil, are not allowed inside.”

“A blessing? How could Calcifer tell?”

“Blessings are the opposite of curses, but they leave the same residue on a person, no matter what form the blessing takes. It’s what Shaw offers in his deals. Join him, and you’re blessed—don’t, and you’re cursed. Or if you’re me and you turn on him, you get both.”

“I—”

“He must have finally figured out the pattern. He must have finally realized I never reject the cursed. At least, I allow them into the castle. So he cursed you as a strategy. Maybe he sent you out on a day he knew Hank would be around—Hank could let you in himself since he has free reign of the place. Basically, Shaw got you in without my knowledge, and he’s never managed that much before. It’s exactly what he’s wanted since Jean.”

“I _swear_ I refused his offer,” Charles said. _God, does he really think I lied?_

Erik ignored him. “Shaw could have cursed you and promised to reverse it later. Could have promised to uphold side of the deal for after you succeeded.” 

“He didn’t do any of that! I mean, he cursed me, but not because it was part of his plan…or if it was his plan, he definitely didn’t clue me in. He didn’t tell me to be a mole for you. How could he have known I would decide to waltz into the forest one day, happen to find Hank, happen to…meet you?”

“Assuming you’re telling the truth, he probably didn’t know. But he preys on martyrs because they might just do something crazy like that. They might just do anything for a little strength, a little power, a little attention.”

“I left _on my own terms_ ,” Charles’s head was reeling, but he didn’t give up. “All your theories could have happened, but they haven’t. Maybe Shaw’s just thought of them, too, and this is him taunting you.”

“Not just. Four months ago.” Erik walked over to Charles and held out a piece of paper. Charles had to lean one crutch against the wall to take it. 

Charles stared at it, and it took him five whole seconds to remember. “I can’t read this,” he whispered. 

More slowly, Erik took it back. “Sorry. It’s the transcription of the message Shaw attached to the body with magic.”

Charles waited. “Well, aren’t you going to read it?”

After a long hesitation, Erik turned and set the paper back on the counter. “No. You’re right about taunting. He’s saying he can infiltrate the castle now that you’re here. That it’s a matter of time before I ‘lose,’ as he calls it. As if this is a game.” He shook his head, and Charles the almost feel the fury radiating off of him. 

“Until what? How can he get in through me? I’m not about to switch to his side! Why doesn’t he just burn the place down if he wants to get to you so much?”

“He _can’t_. He can’t get in, he can’t do anything to harm it. It’s part of the castle’s design. When I say certain people can’t get in, I mean it’s impossible, sorcery or no. As for what he means about you…” His voice turned more frustrated than angry. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re telling the truth, and he’s bluffing. Or maybe you are a spy and Shaw just wants to torture me with uncertainty. He knows I could use you, but then again, if I think you’re untrustworthy and I send you away, _he_ could use you.” Erik was clearly working himself up. “Maybe you’re telling the truth and he’s _not_ bluffing. For all I know, his curse has some special element that makes you his unwitting spy. Who knows.”

There was too much to refute, that he couldn’t refute, that he didn’t understand, to argue with. Charles didn’t want to leave. The last thing he wanted was to be Shaw’s to use. Erik lifted the paper again, like if he read the message enough, all Shaw’s plans would become clear. “One thing I know for sure now. Hank was wrong. Cursing you wasn’t a mistake.” 

Charles closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, he felt a little more stable. “Can I see that? Please?”

Erik glanced up at him. “This?” Charles nodded, and Erik handed him the paper. “Why? What are you doing?”

Tearing the paper in half, that’s what Charles was doing. 

“I can make more copies, you know.”

“I know,” Charles said.

“Calcifer doesn’t like the taste of burnt paper.”

“I’m not going to bother Calcifer.”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to throw this in the ocean. I haven’t seen it in ages, and I want a closer look.” Charles didn’t bother looking up at Erik’s face. He wouldn’t be able to read it any more than the message. Instead, he just stared at the two halves of paper. “I can’t destroy what he said, but…I need you to know what I think of all this—that his bluffs and plans and taunts belong at the bottom of the sea. Preferably, with his corpse.” 

Charles looked out to the sea and tried to quell the excitement and anger. It made for a strong mix, boosting his courage. “He’s not dead yet, so this will have to do. We can find rocks to wrap these around, and then we’ll throw them as far as we can. Because I also need you to know that I can and will throw farther than you. I’m only _half_ -weak, you know.” He smirked to himself.

Erik didn’t say anything, so Charles propped himself back on his crutches, shoving the paper in his pocket. “I’ll go with or without you. Tomorrow morning, I think.” Erik was still silent, and Charles heart beat faster at the thought of rejection. “Well, goodnight.” 

Charles hardly took a step before Erik stopped him. “Wait. I want to go.” Charles began to smile, but Erik stopped that, too. “But I can’t.”

“Why?” When Erik didn’t answer, he just took another few steps towards the storage closet. “Okay, then,” he muttered. 

Erik easily beat him to the door. “Remember when I said that I designed this castle to keep anyone I chose out? That no force, magical or not, would do them any good? That’s not what I was supposed to do. Calcifer was Shaw’s gift to me, his blessing. I was to be his henchmen, his _protégé,_ for as long as he wanted. Short story shorter, I chose for Calcifer to take the form of this castle, one I could design however I wanted before it came to be. I chose to keep Shaw out, so there was no way he could get to me, couldn’t force me to keep up my part of the deal to work with him. Remember I said I thought I was so smart? Well I wasn’t. As soon as Shaw realized what I did, he cursed the castle to keep me _in_. And no force, magical or not, will do me any good.” 

Erik’s breathing was audible. Erik hadn’t planned to tell him this, Charles understood, or at least not so soon. _You’ve been trapped here? For years?_ Charles had a thousand questions, but he was too tired to ask one. 

But it seemed Erik wouldn’t move until Charles said something, so Charles finally looked up at him. “If we don’t want to ‘lose’ in Shaw’s game, we can’t let him dictate our moves. And he’s doing that as long as we take his little messages to heart.” He moved towards the door and Erik cleared the way. Charles paused. “Promise me you won’t let him mess with your head, that you won’t let him turn you against me. Because that’s almost certainly one of his strategies.”

“I promise,” Erik said.

“Good. I’ll throw your rock for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are solid gold to me. Please, wonderful people out there, share thy wealth.


	6. Chapter 6

The breeze was glorious. The view was even more so. Charles couldn’t complain when there was only ocean and sky to see. It was too early in the morning for locals of Veronne City to be out and about, and Charles was alone on the pier nearest the potion shop—which Erik had named, unsurprisingly, _Potions—_ except for a few fishermen who sat at the end, paying no mind to anything but their lines. Their thoughts were quiet.

Charles’s headache wasn’t so bad out in the ocean air, which made every second that much more enjoyable. He held a stone in his right hand and balanced on a crutch with his left. Even though Erik couldn’t join him, Charles still felt like having the better throw. The first stone, paper crumpled tightly around, went far; Charles threw with what he imagined Erik’s strength was—considerable. He might have underestimated some, but Erik couldn’t call him out here. With his vision, he couldn’t see it hit the water, but he listened closely and heard the plop. 

Charles took the second stone out of his pocket. It was heavier. Just when he was about to throw it, he glimpsed something on the paper. It was a word of course, and with just the right angle, squinting just so, Charles could read it. 

_lame_

Charles heartbeat quickened. He hated that word. He’d hated it since he moved to Heartworth, and his mother used it as the euphemism for cripple. Charles thought it was worse than cripple; it was the same word she would have used for a horse or a dog. The only thing that softened the mortification was that no one seemed to label him that in their thoughts. Peoples thoughts were uncensored and unedited, and didn’t shy away from cripple or invalid. 

The Wizard of Hellfire had no interest in euphemisms, if sending Erik a message in a blackened corpse was anything to go by. So Charles knew Shaw had used _lame_ just to mock him, to laugh as if he _knew_ Charles hated it, as if he _knew_ Charles would see that word right then on the pier. 

_“Promise me you won’t let him mess with your head.”_ Charles reminded himself to take his own advice. At least Erik had spared him by not reading the message aloud. _Considerate of him,_ Charles thought, with no small twinge of resentment that the courtesy had been necessary at all. 

Using his anger as fuel, Charles flung the second rock with more than twice the power of the first. It disappeared from Charles’s sight almost immediately, and he never heard anything close to a plop. When he realized he wasn’t going to get any more gratification, Charles slumped against the railing. He looked over the side, down at the water lapping against the pier’s stilts. 

_What have I done?_

Charles left Heartworth to rid himself of his family’s disapproval and the ghost of the Wizard lingering in his thoughts. Now, he had peers who approved of him, but at the cost of diving waist deep into Shaw’s complicated game of cat and mouse—except both Erik and Shaw were both cats, and Charles was cheese. 

Charles turned his head and looked toward the row of shops. He was close enough to see the _Potions_ store front. Charles stood up straight when he saw the door was open. He could have sworn there was someone standing in it. Charles smiled despite himself. _I’m seeing things._ But on the smallest off-chance his eyes weren’t deceiving him for once, Charles decided to head back, two burdens lighter. 

When he got close enough to see Erik was indeed standing in the door, he almost fell trying to wave. Closer still, and Erik was joined by the beautiful blonde Charles had glimpsed once before in his room. 

“Charles!” Raven said, rushing towards him. “Need any help?” 

“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”

“Wonderful. That gross rogue is gone and I’ve convinced Erik to take me to the sanctuary for a lunch date. I’ve missed that place.” She sighed in reminiscence. “I have things to do and places to be before, that, though. You have anything planned?”

“Training with Hank.”

Her smile was nothing less than brilliant. “Excellent. You’ll do great. See you later!” She pecked him on the cheek and walked away. Even Charles couldn’t miss the pretty way her hair reflected sunlight.

Finally Charles made it to the shop door, slightly windblown. He looked up at Erik and an unexpected surge of awkwardness made him look away. Charles suddenly felt like he was on the dark side of a one-way mirror where everyone could see him, and he could see nothing. 

“Was that wimpy throw supposed to be you imitation of me? Because I can throw better than that.” 

Charles grinned, keeping his eyes on the ground. “I won’t believe it until I see it. Are you saying you could do better than me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Even though Charles could hear the grin in Erik’s own voice, he couldn’t feel the satisfaction he felt just a few minutes ago. In that moment, there was nothing more he wanted in the world than to see. To see the ripples in the ocean, to see the words on the vials in the potion shop, to see Calcifer’s pout, and Raven’s scales, and Erik’s eyes, and if Hank’s smitten expression was just as pathetic as Charles imagined. 

_These last four months I assumed that there would be a day where I blinked, and everything would be clear again._ He assumed, because the alternative was unthinkable. _. Hope is hardly lost. I haven’t even tried any of Hank’s experiments, yet._ But he was getting more and more anxious for reasons more muddled than his vision.

“ _Charles!_ ” Erik said forcefully. 

Charles startled. “What?”

“I said you name four times already. Are you alright?”

“Of course,” Charles said. “Is Hank here?”

“Yes, he’s with Calcifer…”

“Thanks.” Something more should have filled the awkward lull, but Charles drew a blank. “Thanks,” he said again, and passed him. 

He returned to the castle living room to Hank asking why Calcifer needed sea powder.

“Apparently the stuff gets him intoxicated. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want to listen to us all day.”

Charles would bet anything Hank rolled his eyes. The man growled at Calcifer and got to his feet. On the way over to the cottage, Hank surprised Charles by bringing up Raven’s date. “I heard,” Charles said. “She’s seems excited about it. I’m not sure what the sanctuary is, though.”

“It’s a part of the castle that only Erik has access to, unless he explicitly brings someone else in.” Hank was a little slower, navigating all the mud. The weather finally took a turn in the forest, though, and the sun was out. “Erik showed me once. He’s taken Raven their a few times. It’s odd…”

“What’s odd?”

“Raven usually has to beg it out of him. But she bragged to me and Calcifer before she left that this time she only had to ask once.”

“Maybe things are finally looking up for them. Erik told me Raven’s broken up with him four times now.”

“He did?” Hank laughed. “You should tell Calcifer that. Anyway, I wish I could agree with you, but this is almost always how it goes. They get together, break up, fight some more, things calm down, and Raven decides to start the cycle over again.” 

“Oh,” Charles said, trying to piece it all together. All he could imagine was jigsaw pieces that didn’t fit being forced together. “She should broaden her horizons, to, I don’t know, across the forest?”

“I wish.” Hank sounded weary, but Charles couldn’t tell if it was from the trek or the topic of conversation. 

“I’m serious. Wouldn’t she go crazy knowing he could never take her on an actual date?”

Hank slowed. “What…do you mean?”

“Erik said he was trapped in the castle because of a curse.”

Then they were stopped. “He what?He told you that? What else did he tell you?”

Charles frowned. Should he have kept his mouth shut? It seemed unlikely Hank didn’t know. “That the castle was Shaw’s blessing to him. That’s it.”

“ _That’s it?_ He kept that a those secrets from me and Raven for almost a year. We were both convinced he had some obscure sickness until he told us the truth.”

“That…” Charles wasn’t sure what to say. “He should have told you.”

“No kidding. You know, for someone who cursed you because he didn’t trust you, Erik trusts you an awful lot. It hasn’t even been a week…” Hank continued to mumble to himself with frustration in his tone. Charles had a sneaking suspicion he was disappointed about Raven’s date, even though he appeared to be taking it well.

Charles felt disappointed, too. He had come to care for Hank a lot; he deserved this pretty girl that had so much in common with him. Not just physically—but she would doubtlessly understand what it felt like to feel different. To feel a little like some kind of monster. And Raven was going in circles with the Erik. She seemed too sweet to deserve that kind of stress.

The cottage had books splayed all over the couches and stacked on the floor. Hank cleared him a spot, and Charles sat down, trying to ignore the spasms in his legs. It wasn’t a good omen. 

But Charles didn’t really believe in omens, even though modern sorcery claimed they existed to some degree. Hank wasted no time getting to work explaining his theories about the painful side effect of Charles’s curse and describing his ideas for healing it. They got to work trying various techniques—different herbs and spells that one didn’t need to be an official wizard to do legally—and weighing the benefits of possible potions Charles could take. 

“Why aren’t you a wizard, Hank?”

“I didn’t want to be the laughing stock of the sorcery community. Even though they work with magic and curses themselves, that still doesn’t mean they would embrace me with open arms.”

“Are you just ‘unofficial’ then? Like Erik?”

“No, no, I’m not a fraction of the wizard he is. I helped him with his studies since he couldn’t exactly _go_ to the academy. I was more focused on him and Raven than myself. I thought, what would a third wizard in the house be good for? I did do a lot of studying on healing and minor spells though, like these. It was my dream to be a doctor until—right.” Hank changed the subject back to Charles, asking endless questions and prodding around on his head and in his books. 

Hank tried to convince Charles to skip training again, but Charles wouldn’t have it. He insisted on working on the same things as before, and at first, his headache seemed to be responding to Hank’s experiments. But it was only a matter of time before the same level of pain as before returned. This time, Charles did his best to show nothing. He was eager about his progress—that he was making some progress in _something_. 

Hank didn’t end up dropping Charles off until late that night. “I could’ve taken your couch,” Charles had said, “and you wouldn’t have had to make this trip. I’m sure you’re exhausted.” But Hank refused him. “Let’s just stick with the routine we have, if that’s okay with you.”

“Whatever’s best for you.” Charles wanted to ask why he was so insistent, but decided against it. _Maybe he really does just want a break from me._ Hank didn’t even join him inside; he just left him on the front step, and they said goodbye. _Maybe he wants to mope about Raven alone._ Charles felt bad for him, but Hank really needed to take some initiative. 

No more than a second after Charles walked in, Calcifer was on his case. “Where have you been? Do you know how late it is? Do you know how frustrating it is to stay alert at this hour? At this point, I usually keep everyone out so I can rest, but _no._ I had to wait for you to show your face—”

Charles only half listened, nodding and apologizing at the right cues. He was starving, so he made himself oatmeal in the kitchen and brought the bowl over to his favorite chair by the fireplace. 

“What are you doing?” Calcifer spluttered. “Go to sleep! Go. To. Bed. Take you and your mush upstairs and leave me alone, pretty boy.” 

As Calcifer went on and on, Charles became increasingly suspicious. Eventually, he stopped eating altogether and stared at the fire as it grew more desperate for him to leave. When Calcifer finally ran out of things to yell about, Charles said, “Calcifer, what’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

The fire was silent, and even his crackling was faint. “Charles, you should go.”

“Go?” Charles’s stomach dropped when he thought of the different things that word could mean.

“I don’t mean _go_ go, just go to bed.”

“Tell me what’s wrong, Calcifer. What happened?” 

“Nothing!” He flared. “I shouldn’t. Master Erik would kill me.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Charles said. “Tell me. I might be able to help.” 

“No, no…no…” The fire groaned loudly. “Fine. Turn the level south. You can open the door, but you can’t go in. Just yell…I don’t know! Scream at him get his ass out of there. Or open the door and let me do it. He can’t stay in there for long, he’ll go crazier than he already is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You gonna do it or not?” Calcifer snapped.

Charles glared at him and stood. It was dark, since Calcifer was the only light in the room. He went over to the lever on the doorframe and hesitated only a moment before turning it down. There was the telltale click, and Charles adjusted himself to open the door. 

There was only blackness. It was somehow a blackness deeper than Charles had ever seen. He lifted one crutch into the void, but an invisible force pushed it away. Charles tried the same thing with his hand, and the same force repelled him. 

“No one can get in but him,” Calcifer called from his grate. Charles ignored him, using more strength to test the barrier. “Did you hear me? Just yell out and he’ll hear you. He’s somewhere in there. Erik!” 

Charles yelled out a few times, too, but nothing happened. Charles made a decision that left Calcifer yelling at _him_. Realizing there may just be a place where his vision would make no difference prompted Charles set one crutch to the side and tightly grip the handle on the other side of the door. With force equal to that he exerted at the pier, Charles turned and pulled the door shut behind himself. 

He didn’t fall right away—he was pressed up against the door, the only bearing in the dark surrounding him. The invisible force pressed on him for a long, suffocating second, then vanished. Charles immediately lost his balance and only then did he fall down. He stood up on his one crutch and waved it around to find the door again. He hit it, and Charles felt for the handle. It wasn’t locked, but Charles didn’t want to leave so soon—he felt the strongest sensation that he _couldn’t_. There was something wrong. 

The physical panic was inevitable, the rational part of Charles mind knew. His rational mind also said that it probably had been unnecessary to go to such lengths when Calcifer had implied just calling out would be enough, eventually. 

But intuition was telling Charles that it wouldn’t have been that simple. With his slightly enhanced hearing as a result of his dulled vision, Charles heard a tinge of panic in Calcifer’s voice that he could relate to very well now that he was engulfed in complete nothingness. Charles sided with the irrational side of his brain—his intuition—and told himself he didn’t just do something very stupid. 

Just moments after stepping away from the door, a subtle light drew his eyes. It was either large and far away, or small and close; Charles had no way to judge. He just moved forward, slow and painfully with one less crutch than he was used to. 

The light grew steadily larger. Eventually the light turned into a shape. Closer still, and Charles realized the shape was a human, glowing dimly. It began walking towards him, and Charles stopped, afraid to approach. 

The glowing human had on a blue and grey dress, but it was impossible to tell how old the woman was. When she stopped a little ways away, she spoke a kind tone that, to Charles’s surprise, did not echo. 

“You must be Charles.” 

Charles swallowed his fear. “Yes.”

“You are looking for Erik?”

“Yes.”

“Brave of you, to come in here. A stroke of luck that you did, too.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Erik comes here only rarely. But when he does, he finds it difficult to leave. His father and I do what we can to convince him, but it gets more difficult every time. He’s losing hope.”

“You’re his mother?”

“His memory. This is a place of memories come to life, or as he calls it, his escape.”

Charles remembered when Erik mentioned an escape as a part of survival. “Do you know where he is? Calcifer says he shouldn’t stay in here too long.” Charles forgave himself for how dense he sounded— _I’m staring at a memory._

“Calcifer is right,” the woman said. “We should get going.” She turned and began walking away. With nothing else to go by, it looked almost like she was shrinking in place. Charles followed.

Eventually they came upon a small house. It also glowed in colors generally true to what the house might have had outside of Erik’s memory. When they reached the front door, the woman walked through it, and Charles could, too. Charles passed right through a glowing kitchen, hallway, bedroom, and back door. Then the black opened up once more to reveal a massive lake. The shimmering deep blue amidst the void was breathtaking.

“This way,” Erik’s mother said. They made their way closer to the lake, and Charles realized with each step he took, a patch of green lit up beneath his feet. 

They finally reached the shore. Charles was so stunned by the beauty he could barely find words to say. “Did you live here?”

“In that house, yes, but this lake was somewhere else, just a place we visited every once in a while when Erik was young.” She pointed further down the shoreline. “You’ll find him over there. The glow of the lake might just be bright enough for you to see him. Or perhaps that other memory can illuminate him. See?”

Sure enough, far to the right, another glowing figure stood by the lake. “I see.”

“Charles?” The sad tone in the woman’s voice turned Charles back towards her. “Power can ruin a person. It can ruin the good and the evil, but most of all, those in-between.” 

The words rang a bell in Charles’s mind, but he lost his train of thought when the woman faded before his eyes. Charles slowly turned and walked along the blue pale brown shore towards the other glowing figure. It was throwing rocks out into the lake. Charles lost his breath for a moment. He searched in the darkness fruitlessly for Erik. If he could barely see his hand in the lake’s glow, how was he supposed to see a person with his eyesight? _So much for my eyesight not making a difference._

He approached the glowing memory of himself. From what Charles could tell, he seemed to be more detailed than Erik’s mother. Charles glanced around again, but neither the light from the lake nor his remembered self revealed anything. _He will just have to find me, then._

“Erik?” Charles called. His voice didn’t travel well in the void. “Erik!”

Charles moved closer to his memory, which had stopped throwing rocks and was staring out at the lake. His memory had no crutches and stood like anyone else. Charles didn’t know to feel about that. He stepped into the glow. 

He looked out at the lake through the memory’s perspective. His body didn’t fit since Charles held onto his crutch firmly for fear of losing it in the dark. He wondered in what other ways he and Erik’s memory differed. 

“Charles?” 

Charles whipped his head around and stumbled out of the glowing body. “Erik?” He almost jumped out of his own skin, too, when a hand touched his shoulder to steady him. Charles looked up to see Erik just barely lit. Only enough to see half his frame. 

“How did you get in here?” The hand gripped too tightly. “ _How?_ ”

“Uh…” Hostility had not been expected. “Through the door?”

“There a barrier. No one can get in,” Erik said, a hint of uncertainty in his words.

“I—I forced my way in. I closed the door on myself. Calcifer asked me to get—I mean he told me to yell for you, but I just—”

“Just _what?_ ” 

“I don’t know. I just tried to come in. I didn’t think it would work. I’m sorry.” The huge lake still shined, but the memory of Charles had vanished as suddenly as Erik’s mother’s. Erik became almost entirely invisible. 

“How are you here?” 

Charles realized too late that Erik was asking himself. “The bloody door! How else? Can we go now? Calcifer is going to think I’m dead or something.” He tried to shake off the hand, but Erik didn’t budge. His relief of finding Erik was quickly replaced with fear again. “Please?”

“No.”

“What?”

“We’re not leaving,” Erik said, sounding as if he were in a trance.

“What do—” Charles cut himself off when Erik’s fingers dug into him harder. “God, what are you _doing?_ ”

“I don’t know what God’s doing. But he doesn’t matter in here.” The lake disappeared and they stood in the forest. It was not the edge, where the castle roamed, but the dense center, and glowing trees almost blocked out the blackness above. 

Erik jerked him forward, and Charles was forced to follow awkwardly with his crutch. His legs screamed in pain. “Erik, stop. Let go of me.” 

Erik did not respond. In the light of the forest around them, Erik was much easier to see. But the man he saw now hardly looked like Erik at all. His skin was grayish and the skin under his eyes was dark enough for Charles to notice. The hand on his shoulder was laced with dark veins and the nails were black and sharp. His eyes caught the reflection of a silver bracelet before they locked on the blood that began to stain Erik’s shirt. 

“Stop,” Charles tried to say, but his panic hardly let him speak. Erik did what he said and stared at him. All Charles could see where the dark circles where eyes would be. He stepped back, but on the wrong leg, and Charles collapsed. 

He blinked and the forest was gone, replaced with a long glowing pier. From the extreme brightness around him that outshone everything else in the void so far combined, Charles knew an ocean of light stretched in all directions. Erik reached down and pulled him up harshly by the arm. He dragged Charles along the pier as if he were a doll, and Charles struggled to stand. He held on to his crutch like a life preserver. Everything was throbbing, his head most of all, but he had no time to wallow in his pain. 

They reached the end, where the rail was lowered for fisherman to lay their poles. Erik threw him against it, one clawed hand wrapped around his throat. The veins stretched up his arms and neck, and his skin had turned a darker, sicklier grey. 

“Did Shaw send you here?” It rasped. “Did Shaw send you into my own mind to torture me? _Did he?_ ” Charles was desperate to breathe, but the rogue clutched his neck tighter as he said, “ _Speak!”_

As his blurred vision slowly turned black, Charles’s pain became so much that he felt almost nothing _._ His thoughts were prayers. _It’s not Erik. It’s not Erik. It’s not Erik. It’s not Erik_.Charles clawed at the hand on his neck so hard that it released him. He could barely see, but he felt the crutch in his hand. With all his strength he rammed the end into the rogue’s body. It was only enough to knock him backwards, but when Charles did it again, harder each time, running him backward, the thing finally fell back. Charles didn’t think, he just tackled it and reached for its neck. He understood only one thing: _It’s me or it._ He squeezed with both hands, ignoring the slashes from the rogue’s claws. He squeezed and squeezed—his fingers cramped so badly they felt broken. But he squeezed more and the body finally fell slack on the glowing wood. Charles was close enough to see the whites of the eyes close to black.

Charles snatched his hands away like the neck had turned to acid. The began to shake uncontrollably along with the rest of his body. He couldn’t process what he’d done. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t make himself run away to find the door back to Calcifer, to the forest, to his third story bedroom.

Eyes flickered and stared back at him. They were so wide that Charles could see the white and even the black pupils. A heartbeat later, Charles was shoved off. The rogue scrambled to its feet. It ripped something from its wrist and dropped it by Charles.

Then it ran to the edge of the pier and threw itself into the blinding ocean. 


	7. Chapter 7

Charles didn’t know if he or the memories blacked out first. When he awoke, he wasn’t sure he had. All around him was a void once more. Once more, panic seized him. _Am I dead? Am I blind? Am I deaf?_ Charles could hear his breathing well enough. He looked around in every direction, disoriented in a way no one should ever have to experience. 

Just when Charles was certain he was going to choke to death on fear, he saw a glimmer. Just by him, a silver glimmer broke the blackness like a voice breaks a silence. 

He reached for it, missing it at first since he couldn’t see his own hand. Then he managed to snatch it and hold it close to his eyes. It was a bracelet, the one Er—the rogue was wearing. It was plain, and it didn’t glow, but the darkness didn’t consume it like it did everything else. But Charles could see it, and he didn’t care why. Not knowing what else to do with it, Charles put it on his right wrist. It should have been too big, but the material seemed to shrink it fit him. Charles stared at it—there was literally nothing else to stare at. 

At first, he thought he was imagining it. But then he felt a rush of hope. Similar to the invisible push that kept Charles from coming into the void, now he felt a pull…Charles knew immediately it was to the door.

Walking on nails—that’s what it felt like walking with no crutches left to support him. On his hands and knees, nails turned to needles, needles turned into syringes, sucking the energy out of him. The darkness kept going and going and going. But his wrist kept pulling him forward. After dragging himself and dragging himself, stopping every so often stopping to ease the pain, his right hand hit solid wood. Charles reached up for the handle and pushed. Charles saw Raven and Hank hurry towards him, and then he succumbed to a much more inviting black. 

  


*

  


When he woke, it was to the crack of thunder. Charles wished it could have been to light streaming through his window, but he would take what he could get. He thought about his headache and training. He thought about Hank and Raven. He wondered if Raven’s date with Erik went well.

Charles crawled into the hall bathroom to throw up. 

Hank was there moments later to help him back to the bedroom. Charles’s crutches were no where to be seen, which made what happened the night before clearer than ever. 

“I killed him,” Charles whispered. “I killed him. Oh my god.” He thought of the limp body underneath him. The one he strangled to death. The grey skin, the claws. Had he killed Erik gone rogue? A rogue disguised as Erik? Something else altogether? “I killed him.” 

“No you didn’t, Charles,” Hank said “He jumped off the pier, remember?” 

Charles…did remember. He looked up at Hank, trying to control his wild heartbeat. “How did you know that?” Hank’s face, as usual, was unreadable. “How did you know?”

“He told me.”

Calming down was a lost cause, Charles decided. “He’s…”

“He’s not rogue anymore.” Hank sat next to Charles on the bed. “Charles, try not to worry too much. This has happened before, although it’s never been this bad. You—I hate that this happened to you, but you _have_ to know that you saved Erik’s life, too. At least, we all think so.”

“No, I killed him,” Charles whispered. “Almost. I almost did, strangling him. He attacked me.”

“I know. But Charles,” Hank insisted. He reached out, but took his hand back again. “What you did was wake him up. You woke _him_ up. Do you understand what I mean?”

_I don’t understand anything,_ Charles wanted to scream. He nodded instead. The creature who threw himself into the ocean wasn’t the same thing that trie to kill him; a rogue wouldn’t have saved him by giving him the bracelet. 

“Is that…Erik’s bracelet?” Hank asked. Charles looked down. He was gripping his wrist and the bracelet so hard his knuckles were white. “So that’s how you found your way out. He has a wizard’s intuition, but you don’t. Erik said he didn’t know what had happened to it. He doesn’t remember much before he jumped.”

“No?”

“He knows it was bad.” 

_That’s putting it lightly._ “When can I talk to him?” Charles felt a sick sense of satisfaction that Erik couldn’t leave the castle.

“When—what? You _want_ to talk to him?” Hank’s incredulous stare was palpable. 

“When?”

“You _want_ to talk to him. He almost killed you—like almost killed you _for real._ ”

“Almost. We’re even.”

Hank sighed and rubbed his face. “You did out of self defense, Charles. If you hadn’t attacked him, he very well may have finished you off.”

“When.”

A long silence stretched, but Charles could be patient. Everything seemed simpler after what happened. His body hurt. He needed to talk to Erik. 

“I…are you sure? Don’t you want to get more sleep? I should check to see if you’re still bleeding.” Charles didn’t even realize he was covered in bandages until Hank made him pull his shirt up to examine them.

“I’m sure.” Was it strange to want to see your attacker? _He wasn’t my attacker. Not really._ “Where is he?”

“In his room. He didn’t think you would want to stay at the castle at all, let alone talk to him _today_.” 

Charles wanted to conserve energy. It’ll be quicker if you take me to him then, probably. If he’ll see me.” Charles wouldn’t have been able to explain why he was so adamant, but Hank didn’t ask.

As it turned out, Erik’s room was on the opposite side of the second floor hall. Why hadn’t he known that yet? Then Charles realized he _still_ hadn’t been at the castle for a week yet. If Charles were to be asked then, hobbling down the hall, barely able to stand, woozy and half-blind, he would have sworn he’d been there for years. 

Hank knocked on the door. Raven opened it a crack. “Hey, can you—” She looked at Charles, then back at Hank. 

“He wanted to talk,” Hank said, bafflement clear in his tone. 

Raven was quiet. “One second.” She closed the door in their faces. Charles could hear her voice through the door, then silence; he only heard one side of the conversation, but Raven’s pitch got steadily higher. When it almost got high enough for Charles to make out the words, she hushed again. A full minute passed before she opened the door again. “Come in. I’m staying in here though.”

Hank helped him into an armchair near the door, across the room from a bed scarcely bigger than his own down the hall. The room was almost as small, too.

“I’m going to find a general store and buy some regular sleeping pills and other things,” Hank said. “Alright, Charles? I’ll be back in a half-hour.” He left and closed the door behind him. 

Belatedly, Charles tried to think of something to say. _I’m glad I didn’t kill you? Why did you try to kill me?_ Those were pointless things to say. He felt awkward with Raven sitting on the edge of the bed, but her arms were crossed over her chest and didn’t look like she was going to leave them alone. 

Erik was standing and gazing out the window. It was a regular rectangle shape, not a porthole like Charles’s. Had he been sitting in the armchair before? Erik leaned against the wall like he needed to sit down. 

“I’m sorry,” Erik said eventually, his tone desperately tired. “I’ve never been more sorry in my life.” He brushed his hand through his hair, and Charles knew that he had a headache, too. “I’ve put you in a terrible position. If you leave, I have a feeling Shaw is going to try to wring you for information. Who knows about what. And whether or not you want to tell him anything, he may threaten you into some deal or offer that will set off the curse I put on you. Unfortunately, it happens to be irreversible.” Erik kept talking, as if he was afraid of what Charles might say if he stopped. He never looked away from the window. “Some spells are like that. Most can be undone, if not reversed by the sorcerer, but not the one I put on you. I know this isn’t helpful, but I wish I never had. I should have known it was a selfish, let alone efficient, thing to do.”

Charles was too out of it to process much of what Erik was explaining. “Why did you go in, if this has happened before? If you knew it might happen?”

“Does it matter?” Raven asked. Her tone had a bite Charles hadn’t heard from her before.

“It’s a perfectly fair question, Raven.” Erik finally turned towards Charles, his face blurred as ever. “Why? I…” Erik failed at an answer. 

But Charles remembered something. “Your mother said you’re losing hope.” 

Stunned silence hung in the air. 

“Mother?” Raven asked in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“You met her memory?” Erik asked much more softly. “In…there?”

“She lead me to you, to the lake.”

“ _Lake?_ ”

Erik stood up straighter. “Raven, can you leave us be for a while? I’m not going to go rogue in the next hour.”

Raven’s blue scales shimmered for a moment in the room’s light. “I was more worried—”

“He can barely stand, Raven. If you think he’s going to try to strangle me again, you’re sorely mistaken.” 

Charles’s eyes grew wide at his stern tone. Were they really only a few years apart in age? Charles had felt like a miserable child ever since he’d woken up to nothing but a bracelet. Erik, on the other hand, sounded like he’d aged a decade since Charles had last seen him fully human. 

Raven didn’t say another word as she got up, flung the door wide, and left. Erik closed it after her and sat where she’d been on the bed. He rubbed his face with his hands. He had normal coloring again, but there was still darkness under his eyes—Charles expected nothing less. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you losing hope?” Charles asked. “Was it Shaw’s message? I know since I’ve come here—”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Erik said quickly. “I was scared. I’m still scared that I’m never going to get out of this place. When I had lunch with Raven, she went on and on about what was going on in the city. She asked what you were doing on the pier, and I told her you were just visiting. That you hadn’t seen the ocean in a long time. I told her that I explained my curse to you, and she got angry with me.”

“Why?”

“I kept that secret from her much longer. I told her I just wanted to come clean, but honestly, I was determined not to act like a complete ass to you again. Well, at this point I’ve done much worse than that.” His tone had turned low and rough. Charles couldn’t doubt that he was truly remorseful. 

“We got in a fight,” he continued. “It’s typical for us to fight, so I was surprised she snapped this time. She was upset enough about her ‘ruined’ date that she told me I was never getting out, that I could only trust her and Hank to stick around. She accused you of most likely being in league with Shaw, or that you would end up dead soon enough like Jean if you weren’t. Eventually we both got sick of arguing. But that’s when she said it to me.”

“Said what?”

“‘Nothing has to change. Everything with Shaw will blow over if you let it, Erik, and you can be happy,’” Erik chuckled humorlessly. “She said it like it was supposed to comfort me.”

“I’m sure that’s what she meant to do,” Charles said. 

“Maybe, but it gets worse. I told you she was was fickle. Just a minute before, she was yelling at me. But then she said that she was dedicated to helping me have a normal life. ‘Things have been difficult. We’ve been immature,’ she said.” He laughed awkwardly, but there was no humor in it. ‘But eventually we’ll get married, and have kids, and they’ll have happy lives, too.’” He dropped his elbows to his knees, his face in his hands. “She scared the hell out of me. She acted like that had been the plan all along, but I…nothing like that had ever crossed my mind. So I panicked. I left her there, I escaped where no one could follow me. Well—where I _thought_ no one could follow me.”

Charles stared at the blurry figure on the bed. He said nothing, but Erik acted like Charles didn’t think his explanation was good enough. “I felt suffocated, even in the sanctuary. I didn’t want to feel trapped anymore. I didn’t want to think. So I went where I knew I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t care.”

“Gosh, imagine if she told Hank that,” Charles said. He felt so tired and dizzy that he laughed. “He would combust.” He laughed more when he could sense Erik’s confusion. “How do you notknow, Erik? How long have you known him? I thought you were smart,” Charles felt vaguely horrified that he couldn’t stop smiling. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Hank has a crush on Raven the size of that stupid ocean you threw yourself into. God, you’re more blind than me.”

“Oh,” Erik said after a while. “I guess that makes sense.” 

“Liar. Hank told me you’re clueless when it comes to these things.”

When Erik only made a pathetic noise of protest, but no argument, Charles had to muffle him mouth to keep from being obnoxious. “He was right,” Charles said, sighing. “You don’t know anything.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“I know. Erik, it’s perfectly normal to panic about these things. Most men would panic if their girlfriend started talking about kids if they weren’t even married yet.” Charles had overheard plenty of his mother’s amused thoughts about her friends. 

“She’s not…”

“Of course she is. You’ve been with her for years, on and off, right? Although, I did tell Hank he was better suited to her than you. Now that I’ve seen you turn into a monster that makes Hank look like a teddy bear, I’m even more certain of it. But…” Why was Charles saying any of this? How could he, with so many more important things to address?

“What?”

“But I think what Raven says is true. If…if things don’t work out with Shaw, you…” Charles confidence began to wane as he thought of the implications of his words. “You could be happy with her. If she says she’s dedicated to a life with you, I’m certain she means it.”

Erik was silent, and Charles couldn’t stand it. “You deserve something normal. I don’t know you that well, but I know that.” He grinned, or tried to. “I suppose I’ll have to stay with Hank for a while, but…”

“Why?”

“Why?” Charles repeated in a playful tone. “Maybe you don’t know this, either, but most couples don’t let their friends live with them indefinitely.”

The silence this time stretched longer. _What is he thinking about? What does his face say?_

“You think I want to marry her?” 

Charles shrugged. “Maybe not now, but in a few years, sure. Every man wants that.” In Heartworth, getting married was as inevitable as getting old.

“What do _you_ know about every man?” Erik asked.

“Well, I know you aren’t going to find another girl who understands you like Raven does. Unless Hank sets you up with someone—which I’m sure he’d be happy to do, considering. But she’s your best bet.”

“What am I betting on?”

Charles hesitated. “Well. Happiness?” It shouldn’t have been a question, but it was.

Erik stood up and went back to the window, back turned to Charles completely. “What do you know about happiness, Charles?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Where? In Heartworth? Are you deluded enough to think any of those sorry people are actually happy?”

“Happy enough. Raven’s right about normal—you can get happy enough. A wife and kids get you happy enough.”

“If you really think—”

Finally, Charles’s anger decided to show up. “You’re as trapped as me. I can’t walk or see worth a damn, and you’ve been put under lifelong house arrest. Except you have someone willing to be trapped with you. Maybe Raven isn’t the perfect match for you, maybe you’ll fight for years to come, but she’s something. She’s _someone_. You’re _lucky_ , Erik.” 

Erik looming over him in a flash. “Don’t call me lucky. I’ve lost almost everything. My family, my home, half a dozen people who Hank has worked with in the past, including Jean. I almost lost Hank, and I lose Raven all the time. She doesn’t want to be _trapped_ here with me. She hates this place as much as I do. But she stays because she’s afraid no one else will accept her. I keep taking her back because she deserves to be accepted. You’re right—I didn’t know about Hank. I didn’t know why he’s always acted so strangely around her. But if she can be with him, great. I don’t care. I refuse to trap someone here, a wife, kids, whatever the hell she’s thinking—for the the rest of the foreseeable future. I will never do it, even if she begged me there was nothing she wanted more.”

Charles’s hands were shaking again, clinging tightly to the arms of the chair. “You’re allowed to be panicked about a future, but you’re not allowed to throw it away. It doesn’t benefit anyone else for you to be high and mighty about it. If you don’t take Raven, get Hank to set you up with someone else. Your mother told me power could destroy you, but I think loneliness is just as deadly. I’ve always believed that. And I think it’s beyond foolish to choose to be lonely when you have a choice not to be.” Charles wished he wasn’t so close to breaking, but his throat was hot and his eyes were stinging. He could easily imagine Raven and Erik in some sanctuary, a garden with a fountain maybe, talking about a future. Arguing about it, making up, Raven calming Erik’s fear about raising kids or forgetting Shaw. Raven leaning in and…

Charles didn’t want to make this about him, but maybe it would help Erik see sense. “There are people who will never have the kind of future you can, Erik. Who will never be offered the kind of happiness you could have with someone somewhere, using your talents to make something of yourself, to do something for the world. Stop mourning your circumstances and work around them like Raven is telling—” 

Erik’s head was a foot away from Charles’s face. “You’re the one mourning your circumstances.” He grabbed his shoulder. “Do you—” 

The hand flew away, and Erik stumbled back to the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.”

Charles was pale, but the pain in his shoulder had only reminded him to why he was here in the first place. “All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t lose hope. There are people who are willing to stick with you. Hank’s a great friend. Raven loves you. I haven’t been here long, but I already know I never want to leave.” The words came out too quickly to think about holding them back.

“I almost killed you,” Erik stated slowly. “Maybe I wasn’t in control, but I _was_ in that thing, somewhere. I’ve…just proven it, just now. And you want to stay?”

“If only to make sure you never go in that place again, yes. Whether you marry Raven or just get sick of me, I’ll live with Hank. If Hank gets sick of me, I’ll bully him into building me my own house next door. But I don’t want to go back to Heartworth, and I don’t care about going any place else. So you can tell Hank to not bother funding me for a ticket to Vince Port. There are more important things.” Charles felt a little hollow his new plan, but didn’t take it back. 

“I won’t get sick of you,” Erik muttered, “but you’ll get sick of me. Believe me.”

Charles laughed out incredulously. “I’m already sick of you! You humiliated me, you strangled me, and worst of all, you made me lose my crutches. But I told you off and strangled you back, so we’ll be even once you get me a new pair of crutches of equal or better quality.” He slumped back in his chair, feeling dizzier than ever. It killed Charles not to know what Erik was thinking. Charles had been grateful he couldn’t see Erik’s face when he’d degenerated to a rogue, but it killed him not to know what his face was like now. 

Eventually Erik asked, “How are you not angry? How do you not hate me?” 

Charles tried to force a smile, but gave up. “I am angry. You broke your promise. When you tried to strangle me, you said something about Shaw, accusing me of being on his side.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Yeah, well, you probably didn’t take the promise to heart, but then again, no one else would, either. I was a stranger. It was just a silly promise. But now…it _has_ to be real. Alright? It seems both our lives are at stake. You need to prove that you meant it, that you won’t let Shaw’s taunts get to your head.” 

Erik was still. “I’ll do anything.”

“Then lets stop dicking around and get Shaw onto a very, very, high pier.”


	8. Chapter 8

Raven got him new crutches. When Hank wasn’t studying medicine, he helped Charles study sorcery—the politics of it, that is. Hank had a mission to cure Charles of his most loyal, painful companion, and Charles had a mission to learn about Shaw’s mob of criminals, from the young nobodies to the high-ups—sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike—that would cause anything from sparked public interest to widespread controversy if ever convicted. 

The secondary, and much more difficult, mission was getting _anyone_ convicted. Ideally Shaw, who held the whole underground organization together. But he was next to impossible to touch. 

In the midst of getting up to speed on the investigations the castle trio had already done, Charles kept training his mind. Hank complained at first that it was a bad idea to continue so soon, but Charles wouldn’t take no for an answer. He did improve. Within two weeks, he could hear entire sentences in Hank’s mind if he focused. Within four, he could hear those sentences from a quarter mile away. 

Hank was extremely impressed with his progress in mind reading, but just as worried in their lack of progress on Charles’s symptoms. After training an hour or so, the headache would become too much and they would stop and try a few methods to alleviate some of the pain. Potions, spells, meditations, hypnosis. Nothing worked, not consistently and not for long. Slowly, Charles came to accept that his eyes may just be as permanently damaged as his legs. At least training boosted his spirits, which Charles suspected was the only reason Hank let him continue.

Life at the castle was more complicated than life at Hank’s cottage. Erik seemed satisfied that Charles was firmly on board with his plans, but Raven wasn’t so sure. Every once in a while, she brought up tying the knot—which she couldn’t be blamed for, considering how long she and Erik had been together—but Charles decided not to say any more on the matter than he already had. He overheard more than one heated argument between them, usually after Raven returned from reconnaissance missions for their cause. Everyone got more tense as the Sorcerer’s Gala loomed nearer. 

The topics of the arguments were usually ‘him,’ ‘her,’ and ‘them,’ but the worst argument turned out to be one about Charles. 

“I don’t know,” Raven said in the kitchen late one night, five weeks after the rogue incident. Charles lingered at the top of the stairs. “I’m worried all this information is going to be compromised somehow. Could be before the Gala, or after, but I’m not willing to trust anyone but you and Hank. So tell Hank to stop feeding him so much of what I learn. All we need to do is get some targets, get some allies, ask said allies to catch said targets red handed. It’s a recipe for political intrigue that benefits egomaniacs, us, and everyone in a five-hundred mile radius. _He’s_ not necessary, so let’s not take unnecessary risks.”

_Not necessary_ , Charles repeated in his mind. _True enough._

“Hank told me he can hear thoughts from almost a half mile away, now,” Erik said. “That’s useful for when you’re recruiting at the largest ballroom in York. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s useful anywhere, all the time. No one is a surefire ally, Raven. If you take him with you, you’ll have a different kind of protection you can’t get any other way.”

“Are you insane? Really, it’s a legitimate question. Half my goal at the Gala is to be inconspicuous and Charles would be one of the _least_ inconspicuous people there. Plus, Shaw’s probably already told his henchmen that a mind reader’s on our side now already.” The sarcasm was dripping. “What would you expect him to do? Stand a half mile away from the building and hope he reads all the people I need without actually seeing any of them? Without being in contact with me? It would never work.”

“What do you really want, Raven? You know I’ll never figure it out unless you say it straight.” 

Her voice went quieter. Charles leaned in closer. “I just don’t see how he can be useful. And if he’s not useful, why is he here? This isn’t a hostel for the cursed or crippled or whoever else you and Hank feel sorry for.” Charles was taken aback by that, but Raven wasn’t done. “We don’t need him, Erik. He’s a good guy, but I just don’t think we can afford to keep him around like a charity case anymore.”

_I’m not needed here._ Charles told himself it wasn’t self-pity if it was reality. 

“You haven’t answered my question,” Erik said.

“He can’t live here,” she said without hesitation. “No one has ever lived here besides you and me. Hank has his own house in the forest, and the others who’ve helped in the past had places of their own, too.”

Charles felt like sitting down, but he’d make too much noise. He focused on keeping his breathing quiet to distract him from the spasms in his leg. 

“You’re saying he should pack up and go home.”

“I’m not saying he’s banished. Hank can build him a house, or hell, he can live with Hank. He’s an accommodating guy.”

“Charles had the same idea.”

Raven paused. “Well, there, don’t you see? This is for the best. Charles can stay our friend, and nothing’s compromised as a result.”

There was silence for a while. Just when it stretched so long that Charles decided to return to his room, Erik spoke again.

“If we keep him out of the loop, then what does it matter where he lives?”

“He could be a snoop,” Raven replied after some hesitation. “Your curse only applies to any deals Charles agrees to _after_ he met us. There’s no way of knowing what he was really up to beforehand. He could be Shaw’s. He could be an amazing actor and is fooling us all.”

“You wouldn’t have said that when he was first here,” Erik snapped. “You wouldn’t have said any of this. Why are you suddenly so paranoid that—”

“This castle is ours!” Raven almost shouted. “Hank’s too, but he moved out the second we started dating. I know you had a heart attack when I mentioned kids—like any other stunted male—but what are you going to do once Shaw’s dead and his ring is disbanded? What will your purpose be?”

“I don’t want your speculations about the future,” Erik said in a low tone.

“It’s not speculation.” In contrast, Raven’s pitch rose. “It’s inevitable.”

“Nothing’s inevitable.”

“Dying is. For you, dying alone _could_ be.”

“Yes, it could.” Low and calm. 

A chair scooted, and Charles guessed Raven was standing. “I don’t understand you, Erik. Why are you even arguing with me? Why do you _care?_ Why are you so attached? You almost killed him. _He_ almost killed _you_. I don’t understand why he’s still here at all. Haven’t you always _hated_ having strangers around?”

Erik ignored her questions. “We’ve been over this. I’m not ready to do anything drastic like…marriage.” He said the word like it was foreign. “Not now. Neither of us can seem to commit to anything, let alone each other. Can’t we just put all this on the back burner until we deal with Shaw?”

“No, because Charles could affect things with Shaw—” Their voices were getting louder. 

“You only care about anything _affecting_ you—”

“This castle is _ours_ , Erik!”

“Not. Anymore.”

Though Erik’s tone was final, Raven wouldn’t let it go. She let out a frustrated noise. “Bloody witches, why do you care? What do you care if some random cripple stays here or not? A guilt complex? Are you trying to redeem—”

A chair clattered. “ _Get out,_ ” Erik said, his voice ice cold. 

Charles almost dropped his new crutches. Even though he wasn’t in much danger of getting caught, Charles hurried back to his room. 

Raven returned to the castle blonde and beautiful late the next day with a large shopping bag. Erik, Hank and Charles sat at the kitchen table, discussing Hank’s growing interest in medicine. When she came inside, shifting to blue, Charles tried to act normal. He found it to be more difficult than he expected. 

Erik was right; Raven could be nice…when she wanted to. 

She wanted to be nice now, that was clear enough. She brought them practical gifts. Hank got a thick journal, “Because I know you’re filling all yours up! Plus, as a thank you for letting me stay over last night” and Charles got new bed sheets, “Because I also know the ones you’re using now are ancient.” Charles knew it was a hidden message to Erik—Charles could stay. 

Hank and Charles thanked her warmly, but Erik was not so happy about his gift. 

“ _A Beginner’s Guide to Long Term Relationships_ ,” Raven said when Erik wouldn’t say. “I have dibs when you’re done reading it. God knows I need it just as much as you do.” 

“Raven…”

“Listen, I’m sorry about last night, okay?” Her voice was genuine. She sat down. “I’ve been hounding you, which page two says is a terrible idea. I glanced through it a bit.” 

The lull that followed was one of the most painful Charles ever experienced. Hank stared at the book, doubtlessly in horror. Erik did, too, but with what expression, Charles didn’t have a clue. “I don’t know—” Erik began.

“I promise I won’t screw things up this time. We can take things slow.”

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Strain laced Erik’s words. 

“No need,” Raven said. Apparently her cheer couldn’t be shaken. “Just read it. It’s not long, despite the subject.” She chuckled. “I’m determined to be an adult for once, you know?” 

Charles tried not to stare at Erik.

“What do you say, Erik?” Raven leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “I want to make things better.” 

Charles’s question was: Was Raven just really anxious to let Erik know how she felt, or was she was saying all this in front of Charles as some strategy?

“I’ll…I’ll read it.” Erik was clearly _not_ excited by the prospect, but the answer was good enough for Raven. 

Hank made dinner. Charles was sure it was delicious as ever, but he didn’t taste much of it. The conversation started out light and insubstantial, but when Charles returned from excusing himself to the bathroom, the air at the table was heavy with tension. He said down, and Raven said, “Charles, we have something we need to explain to you.”

Charles knew what was coming, so he was able to take it with as much grace as he could muster. Because of this and that—Charles didn’t really pay attention—he wasn’t to be a part of the intelligence portion of their Shaw mission. However, Raven explained eagerly how helpful his telepathy could be if he continued honing it. He nodded and smiled and agreed in all the right places, the unfailing formula for getting through tough conversations without arguing. 

Most nights, Charles lounged by Calcifer and listen to him rant and rave about anything and everything. Sometimes Hank or Erik joined him. That night, he went straight to bed. He didn’t bother with the new sheets. 

By the fourth month Charles had been away from Heartworth, he was in a pretty good groove. He was happy enough. The morning after his de-involvement with the Shaw case, Charles realized that he’d barely left the confines of the castle or Hank’s cottage in all the weeks he’d been there. Lately, when he wasn’t at Hank’s, Charles enjoyed spending time in Veronne City. He loved the sounds of the waves, the fresh sea air, and the lack of near-constant rain. 

And lately, Charles worked twice as hard on his telepathy in secret. It was hard to practice such things without any guide to go off of, but he experimented in public, where thoughts of the non-cursed were far easier to read. If mind reading was the only thing Charles was good for, then he would be damned not to be the best. 

His groove ebbed and flowed with his success. Once he learned to purposefully concentrate on entire streams of thought, he moved onto blocking thoughts out. His efforts were as fruitless as Hank’s headache cure attempts. One day, he experienced an anomaly that couldn’t be counted as a success or failure. 

He was visiting _Violet Veronne,_ an indoor-outdoor tavern by the piers, for the first time. And sitting at the bar was a man who had no thoughts. If he was cursed, Charles couldn’t tell. But even if he intentionally looked for thoughts, he found nothing. 

Charles sat outside, thinking he would draw less attention to himself there than at the bar. But Charles drew the man’s attention anyway; it was as if he could tell Charles was trying to read his mind. He stopped and turned his attention away completely, but he could feel the man staring him down from the bar. Charles began to contemplate leaving, but the man didn’t give him a chance to escape. He crossed the length of the tavern and sat down directly across from Charles. He set his beer on the table. 

Charles wondered if he should be on some kind of red alert. _No point. I’m a sitting duck if there ever was one._

“Wha’cha trying to read, kid? Promise there’s nothing you want to know in here,” the man said, tapping his head. He leaned back and smirked. “Tell me, what’s the stupidest thing you’ve heard someone think today?”

The man was built large and muscular—so muscular Charles could _tell_. His accent was one he hadn’t heard before. Charles thought about the question. “I heard one man decide he was going to save money by taking a bath in the ocean. He thought about taking shampoo and everything.”

The man laughed. “That’s pretty damn stupid. You know what’s also stupid? You, sitting here, alone.”

Charles froze. “I’m sorry?”

“You ever been here before? This city?”

“Of course, plenty of times.” 

“At this time of day?”

Charles looked up at the sky. The sun was setting, and Charles hadn’t even noticed. “Uh…well, I—I guess not. I suppose I usually leave by the afternoon.”

“Thought so. Even if you did survive a night here, I doubt you’d have the guts to make the same mistake twice.”

“What do you mean?”

The man rifled in his pocket for a moment and brought a cigar to his lips. He lit it. “You tellin’ me you don’t know how dangerous this city is? Veronne City. Sounds pretty, doesn’t it? And it is, during the day, because it’s a rich place. Good business. But at night, you don’t wanna be here.”

“Why?”

The man laughed again. “Shit. It doesn’t get more tragic than a blind cripple sitting innocently at a bar, oblivious to what would happen if he decided to enjoy the night air in Vermin City.” Charles didn’t ask what, but the man continued anyway. “Maybe he’d just be the butt of some jokes, a victim of some harmless pranks. Thugs who think verbal harassment is just hilarious. They’d destroy your crutches at the very least, I guarantee you.” He nodded to them, then took a drag. “Maybe they’d drag you down the shore to make you watch them throw the pieces in the sea, forgetting you probably couldn’t see any of it anyway. Probably throw you in the sea once or twice, too. Maybe they’re the sort who crush both your legs. Maybe they’re the sort you would get hard seeing you soaked and pitiful and…well, I don’t need to explain more than that, do I? You should go home.”

Anger and humiliation ran hot in Charles’s veins. “Who are you?”

“Not a thug.”

“How could you tell I was trying to read your mind? And that I…have poor vision?” 

“It’s strange when someone’s staring at your face, but can’t seem to meet your eyes. What’s your name, kid? Just so I can put a face to the name I’ll hear in horror stories later.”

Charles got the message. He got hold of his crutches and stood. “Thank you for the advice.”

“Anytime, kid.” 

Charles reached the potions shop in record time. And Erik was there—actually, his duplicate. It had taken longer than it should have for Charles to realize who actually _ran_ the potions shop during the day. A few weeks ago, he left Erik talking with Calcifer one afternoon to go to the city through the shop and found…Erik. Throughly horrified, he went back to the original Erik for an explanation.

“I _am_ a rather good sorcerer, you know.” Erik had been unable to hide his smugness. “You’ve just met Magnus. He does nothing but sit behind that counter all day and help customers. He only knows how to do the bare basics of business, so don’t bother trying to learn all my secrets through him. When the shop is closed, he vanishes. I conjured him a long time ago when I got sick of dealing with customers myself.” 

“Oh, so that’s why you have no people skills,” Charles had said. Erik had actually laughed. 

“Hello Magnus.” Charles said now, his usual greeting, as he entered the shop. Magnus dutifully ignored him for his bookkeeping. “Goodbye Magnus.” 

Through the storage closet and into the castle he went. He turned the lever, and looked out the window to the forest. Charles breathed in deep and enjoyed the view. The air in Veronne City and in the forest were almost completely different; it was a unique experience tasting one right after the other. Charles would never get tired of it. He didn’t even mind the rain because he was just in time to see the sun set a second time.

Then the gruff man’s warning surfaced in his thoughts, and the moment was gone. _Is no place free of cruelty?_ Charles supposed he would be naive to think so. He wondered if mind reading could ever become mind control.

“What are you shaking your head at?” 

Charles turned to see the original Erik, sitting by a quiet Calcifer. “Myself,” Charles answered. 

“Why is that?” Erik’s smiles were usually hard to detect, but Charles was getting better. 

“Don’t tell Hank, but I’ve been training on my own. Testing out different things with my mind, what I can do. Just when I think it’s some kind of superpower, I hear some terrible thought that reminds me it’s very much the curse it was intended to be.”

“What things?”

“Mostly, I’ve been trying to figure out how to block thoughts out,” Charles evaded. “But no luck.”

“Good thing you live with your fellow cursed. I have a feeling if you were stuck with our thoughts all day, you would have gone mad weeks ago.”

“I have no doubt,” Charles said. He stared out at the pattering rain, watching the trees slowly go by as the moving castle trundled along. Charles didn’t hear Erik stand up, but when he turned again, Erik was leaning against the wall next to him. 

“Are you…avoiding me?” Erik asked. “I feel like I hardly see you anymore.” He said it with nonchalance, but Charles could still hear the worry.

Charles looked at him for only a moment, then gazed back outside. He found it too embarrassing these days to look at his face while utterly unable to make proper eye contact. _If that stranger at the bar thought it was strange, what has Erik been thinking all this time?_

“Of course not,” Charles reassured him. “Like I said, I’ve just been practicing on my own, and being out in the city with ordinary people is good practice.” Erik shifted again, which caught Charles’s eye. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“You aren’t still mad about being kept from most of the Shaw intelligence, are you? Raven just wants to be—”

“Careful, I know. It doesn’t bother me. I just have more time to be useful in other ways. Like doing your laundry.”

“No one told you to—”

“Do that, yes. But someone has to, and not just once a month.”

Erik stepped closer. “Stop finishing my sentences.” Charles was sure Erik was smiling now. “Actually, if you tell Raven you’ll be our maid, she’ll let you stay forever.” 

The rain fell harder and lightning flashed far in the distance. “She’s thinking about kicking me out?” Charles had to stop himself from saying _again._ “Are you guys …getting to that point?”

“I hope not,” Erik said quietly. 

Charles pursed his lips. “Don’t say that. You’re ready. It’ll work out.” The platitudes came easy as breathing after saying them so many times. _Someone around here deserves some semblance of normalcy_. The platitudes Charles told himself were just as worn out as the others. 

“Don’t give me that,” Erik said. “What are you _really_ thinking, Charles?”

“You know what I think.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“You’ve known her for a long time,” Charles started again, heaving a sigh. “You haven’t been together for the whole period, but everyone fights. You should know her well enough to know if you love her. Do you?” He couldn’t remember if he’d asked Erik that before.

“Do I what?”

Charles forced himself to look at his face. “Do you love her?”

“I—I guess. I care about her. I wouldn’t be who I am without her. Is that love?”

After a moment, Charles shrugged. He didn’t know. 

“That’s not helpful,” Erik said. 

“Has your book been helpful?” Charles snapped.

Erik hesitated too long. “I…” 

“What?”

“I haven’t read it.” He scratched his head. “I put it in my dresser and, well…”

“You forgot? How could you forget when you’re around Raven so much?” Charles knew Erik and Raven had been spending more time together. What Charles didn’t know was what they did exactly, since one of the reasons he was spending more time away from the castle was to give them space. He didn’t want to give Raven any more reason to make him leave than she had already come up with.

“I don’t know,” Erik said. “Willful ignorance?”

Charles tried to laugh. It was pitiful. “Well, first things first, then. Go get that book and look up the definition of love. It’s not like I have any experience on the subject.” _This whole conversation is pitiful._ “Did you need me to do something?”

Erik flinched. “No. Do you need _me_ to do anything? You seem a little tense.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m tired.” Charles turned and hobbled a few feet away. Where should he go? To bed? 

“Charles.” Erik grabbed one of his crutches, forcing Charles to stop. “I want your advice. I need it. I don’t know what to do.”

Charles sighed. “I don’t know what you should do either.” Charles’s smile was genuine this time. “I just want you to have a future you don’t regret. Think hard on it, Erik. Don’t avoid it. If the future Raven has in mind is one you can live with, _want_ to live with, thendon’t be stupid. Commit to her already. If not…then…well, just think about it. Being trapped here isn’t an excuse to not think as hard as everyone else about the future.” He raised an eyebrow. “Does that make sense? My advice is isn’t exactly flawless, I know.” 

Erik’s hand seemed to have forgotten to let go of the crutch. “Better than Hank’s, I assure you.”

Charles smiled again and rolled his eyes. “If he had the guts, I bet he’d tell you to postpone until Raven tore your head off. Then she’d be his for the taking.”

“Is that so?” Erik asked. Charles could hear the grin. “I keep forgetting he would be competition if he ever competed with me.”

“Think he’s good competition?” Charles asked. He found he was very curious for the answer.

Erik just chuckled. “Absolutely.” 

Charle shook his head. “ _Wrong answer._ I guarantee you there’s something in Raven’s book about dealing with other suitors, and you’re doing it all wrong—as in you’re taking it _too_ well that if Hank suddenly woke up confident, he could sweep Raven off her feet.”

“Damn you, Charles,” Erik said in a mock serious voice, finally letting go of his crutch. “You’re making this even more confusing. I guess I’ll find that goddamned book, then. Who knows what else I’m doing wrong.” 

Charles turned his focus back to the window when Erik left. He couldn’t tell if it raining harder, or if it was it just his imagination. 


	9. Chapter 9

Another week passed uneventfully. Hank, Raven, and Erik discussed matters to do with sorcerous crime without Charles. Charles continued to train haphazardly on his own while Hank forced him to keep his progress at a minimum, out of fear of ‘permeant brain damage’ or something. His headaches were getting worse, but Charles was so use to them now he couldn’t find it in himself to be appropriately concerned. 

Erik did start reading the book, and Raven got giddier everyday because of it. He never shared his thoughts on the subject; he never discussed it; he never answered Raven’s questions about it. He used the umbrella excuse: “Let me read it first.” It wasn’t a long book, like Raven said, so Erik must have been studying more carefully than Charles would have given him credit for. 

Charles focused harder than ever on trying new mind tricks. He learned to “hear” emotions directly rather than deduce them from thoughts. With painstaking concentration, he figured out how to hear quiet thoughts. He even learned how to place tiny thoughts into others’ heads. That was discovered by accident, when he saw a young woman in the distance being followed. He tried to tell her from afar, through the space in his mind where he heard thoughts, what was happening. A moment later, she turned around and saw the man, then hurried inside the closest store. He tried the same thing on several other people to be sure it wasn’t a fluke. Most of them just looked around frantically in confusion, and Charles decided to talk in heads when it was important. 

Unfortunately, the answer to blocking thoughts out completely was still out of sight. 

It wasn’t raining for once, one Sunday morning in the forest, but it was still overcast. Charles went to the potion shop like usual. When he left the storage closet, however, he quickly realized it _was_ raining for once in Veronne City. He sighed. Since the shop was open even on Sundays, he said hello and goodbye to Magnus, and went back through the door to sat by Calcifer, who was still half-asleep. 

He dozed off himself, but was woken by quick steps down the stairs. “Charles!” Raven stage whispered. 

“What?” He straightened in his chair. 

Raven crossed the room in a flash and sat down next to him. She looked ecstatic. “Erik. He stopped by my room this morning and told me he wanted to talk to me tonight after dinner. I think this is it! He’s finally getting his head out of the sand and taking some manly initiative. He’s always been slow with this stuff, but I knew he could come through.” She was almost bouncing in her seat. Her red hair and blue scales glistened in Calcifer’s light. “Do you think he’s asked Hank to pick me up a ring in secret?” She sighed, beaming at Charles. “Sorry, I just had to tell someone. I’m going out now to tell Hank. Maybe he’ll cook us all something special. Then I’m going to shop for a new dress.”

“A dress?” Raven never wore clothes when she was blue. 

“Yeah, of course! It’s a special occasion, you know? He’ll know how much I care if I wore something pretty tonight. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea.” Charles’s smile hurt. His head hurt. His legs hurt. “But it’s raining in Veronne, just to let you know.”

“Oh, okay. That’s no fun. I’ll go to Youngling then since the castle is close. We’ve been headed in York’s direction for a while for the Gala, and Youngling is on the way.” 

“That’s right,” Charles nodded, “I remember.” 

Raven leaned forward and hugged him without warning. Then she stood and practically danced to the door. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Wait.” Charles took a deep breath. “Raven? I had an idea. I’m…going to have dinner out, alright? So you can be alone with Erik. Tell Hank that’s what I’m doing, and I think he’ll be on board, too.” Hank would be _very_ on board. 

Raven’s smile could be seen across the room. “That’s so sweet, Charles, thank you. I will.” She left. Charles didn’t bother asking himself why he couldn’t feel very happy for her. 

He didn’t want to leave the castle. He didn’t want to live alone in the forest, even if it was next door to Hank. He wanted to go to Veronne City every morning and hear the white noise of incoherent morning thoughts; he wanted to nap in the afternoons in his room, listen to the patter of rain just outside and concentrate on the barely noticeable movement of the castle. He wanted to sit by Calcifer in the evenings and hear his lively monologues, or his arguments with Erik, who would often join them for an hour or so before he disappeared again to work on his plans for the Gala, his potions for the shop, or read Raven’s book.

“What’s up with you?” Calcifer asked suddenly, making Charles jump in his seat.

“Nothing.”

“Whatever.” The fire settled back onto his log. “Either stop staring at me or go away.”

Charles went back to the potions shop, not particularly interested in running into Erik or staring at the wall next to Calcifer. Even though it was raining, there was still enough light to illuminate the the whole room in a blue-ish tint. Magnus was so nonsocial, Charles might as well be alone. He walked around the room on his crutches at a snail’s pace. He couldn’t read, he couldn’t go outside, there wasn’t anything to draw with. Eventually, Charles ended up tidying all the shelves in the shop. He couldn’t organize anything, but at least he could make the jars, vials, cases, and other merchandise look nice. He even cleaned the storage closet. A few customers shuffled in and out. Charles was ignored.

Before he knew it, it was the late afternoon. When the rain let up enough, Charles headed out straight for _Violet Veronne._ It was the closest place with a bar that he knew of, and earlier that day Charles had the intriguing idea of getting drunk. 

His mother did it all the time when he was in Heartworth. In the months after meeting the Wizard, he marveled at the distinct difference in the feel of her thoughts when she drank too much from the liquor stash deep in the recesses of the kitchen cabinets. They didn’t really make sense, overlapped each other, and faded in and out more sporadically the more she sat at the table alone with her fashion magazines. 

Probably because of the rain, there were very few people at the tavern. A pretty young woman—only a few years younger than Charles himself, if he were to guess—tended the bar. Charles climbed onto the stool with the best view of the wet, gloomy outdoor section of the place. 

“What can I get you?” The woman asked. She had black hair with a strange white streak that Charles wasn’t sure was a reflection of the light or not. 

The last time he came, he’d just gotten water and an appetizer. In terms of alcohol…Even though he was old enough, he’d only seen a bar once or twice in his life. Everyone would _stare_ at a cripple in Heartworth, but at least in Veronne City people would pretend not to notice. In Heartworth, he stayed at home and worked while Cain did all the partying and drinking for the both of them.

Charles’s hesitation seemed to clue the woman in. “I got you covered."

The rain came and went and came again. Charles watched, sipping whatever it was the bartender have him. She didn’t say; he didn’t ask. He only snapped out of his trance when a man he recognized sat down next to him. “Back again are we? This his first drink?” 

Charles opened his mouth, but the bartender answered. “Yup.”

“If he looks this out of it already, I’ll have what he’s having.” 

The woman moved away again. Charles waited for another strange conversation. 

“The weather in this city is disgusting. Don’t you have better places to be?”

Charles shrugged. “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Logan. The beautiful bartender here is Marie.”

It was clearly an invitation for Charles to ask. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“Wife.” 

The answer was unexpected, so Charles didn’t react quite right. “Oh.”

Logan laughed at him. “Don’t tell me you’re drunk already.”

“What? Of course not,” Charles said, sitting up straighter. “I was just thinking.”

“About what, bud?”

“A friend of mine is getting married soon. She’s very excited.”

Logan didn’t reply right away. Marie gave him his drink, and he took a drink. “Kid, you’re gonna need something stronger than this.” 

The drink he had was already strong, wasn’t it? He’d had beer before. Or was it something else? Cain made him do it for one reason or another. Charles never realized how sheltered he’d been until now. Except in a very different way from Erik. _When was the last time he stepped outside?_

“…stening to me?”

“What?” Charles flushed.

“I asked you why you’re all depressed about this friend of yours. I’m here cause Marie’s workin’ and I’m off _and_ I happen to be bored as hell, so I’ll keep bothering to until she gets off too and I can go home to get my kicks.”

“Logan, seriously?” Marie shook her head. She leaned her arms on the counter. “Are you alright?”

Charles made a face. “Why ask? Can’t I come here to…I don’t know. Whatever people come here to do.”

“Drink and spill their boring secrets,” Logan said.

“I don’t have any. All I said was my friend’s getting married. I’m glad for her.”

He was more confused than embarrassed when the both laughed. Only Marie had the decency to try and hide it. “That’s what they all say,” she sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“What they all say until they have another drink,” she corrected herself. “Sooner you get this story out, Charles, the sooner Logan will get bored of us too and leave me alone.”

“Aww, don’t be like that,” Logan said.

Marie chuckled and slid Charles another glass, taking back the empty one. 

Twenty minutes later, Charles was feeling strange. They talked about mundane things, basic facts about Charles life, like where he was from. Logan had made him spit out the details of Raven and Erik’s relationship, but not their names. Logan had also decided Charles was hopelessly jealous of Erik and wouldn’t listen to any of his denials. Even Marie didn’t believe him. 

“They let me stay with them, alright? I don’t have my own place. If they go through with it, I’ll have to live somewhere else. No. Big. Deal.” His vision was particularly blurry, which was saying something. Charles wasn’t certain which door in the tavern was the exit. 

“You mean stay with _her_ ,” Logan taunted. 

Marie smacked him. “Leave him alone. You’ve had your fun, and I have been terrible enough to enable you. It’s getting late. Make it up to him by walking him back to wherever he lives.”

After some protests and accusations of hypocrisy, Logan followed him home. Instead of helping him, he laughed when Charles swayed the wrong way on his crutches. They got to the rows of shops, but Charles couldn’t decipher the signs to save his life.

“Why’re we down here anyway? Suburbia’s the other way.”

“The house is…connected to one of these…I can’t really see.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re half-blind or whatever. I bet drinking really helped _that_.” He took a few steps ahead. “Which one you lookin’ for? I know this area well enough.”

“It’s a potions shop. The only one around that I know of.”

Logan turned back toward him without responding. “You mean like, what, _Erik Lehnsherr’s_ potions?” 

“Uh, yes. I have the key…”

“Hell, kid. What have you gotten yourself into?” 

“A moving castle,” Charles said, grinning to himself. A private joke. 

“Wait. Who the fuck’s getting _married?_ ” 

Charles didn’t answer.

“Who’s getting married?” Logan asked again. “Raven and who? _Don’t_ tell me it’s Erik.”

Charles said nothing. 

“Holy hell.” Logan took out a cigar. His first of the night. “Hank’s a motherfucking idiot.”

He would have responded to _that_ , not kindly, but he was too out of it. His brain belatedly processed something.

“You know Erik?”

“Unfortunately. God, he’s an idiot, too. He’s gonna _wish_ he could throw himself out a window. Tell me, kid, were you telling truth back there? You’re not in love with the blue chick, right?”

“ _No,_ ” Charles snapped. He was tired. “Can we get going?” He started hobbling forward.

Logan kept pace easily, and for a while he didn’t talk. But he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut for very long. “You serious? They’re getting _married?_ ” He said it like Erik and Raven were deciding to renounce magic. “I don’t believe it.”

“Well, it’s not for _sure_ , I guess. Raven just told me that Erik wanted to “talk” with her tonight, and he’s been reading this book on long term relationships, so it makes sen—”

“He’s what?” Logan almost dropped his cigar. He stopped, and while Charles glared at nothing, he _stared_. 

When Charles couldn’t take it anymore, he turned face to face. “Let’s _go._ ”

“We’re here.” 

Charles straighten and turned back around. Sure enough, he recognized the storefront. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. Go in if you want, but I do have one last question.”

“What?” Charles waved his hand. “Ask away.” 

“Are you in love with Erik?”

_What?_ His voice had chosen that moment not to function. 

“I’d bet you anything, bud, that whatever this “talk” is, it ain’t gonna be a proposal. He’d never let anyone pressure him into anything, let alone something like _that_. I don’t know what the deal with the book is, but I know that much.”

“I guess,” Charles said almost inaudibly.

“Erik’s as clueless as Hank is a coward, but he’s not heartless.” Logan shook his head and took a long drag. “Never thought I see the day. Erik Lehnsherr actually in love.” He laughed. 

“I didn’t say—”

“You don’t have to say. I know him well enough. Someone like _you_ is in love with him?” He huffed. “He’ll be hopeless. Go the fuck inside, kid. I don’t want to see you again until you have solid proof one way or another about this wedding. No more pathetic attempts at drinking your sorrows until you bring me Raven with a ring.”

Logan walked off. Charles went inside the potion ship, thoroughly shaken. _Someone like you? What is that supposed to mean?_ Before he went into the storage closet, he took one last look outside. Night had fallen. The rain had stopped. It should have been peaceful, but Charles couldn’t have felt farther from it.

The castle was quiet. Charles asked Calcifer where everybody was. 

“Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep? Eh, I guess not.” He said nothing more after that.

There was nothing more for Charles to do than sleep. He brushed his teeth, changed, adjusted his legs carefully on the mattress and fell asleep before his head hit the pillow, thinking about what Logan had said.

  


*

  


He woke to sirens. 

At first, he thought the noise was in his head because it perfectly represented the splitting, alarming pain of his headache. He’d been stupid to drink—a complete idiot. He knew he had a headache issue and what better way to exacerbate it than to drink too much? But Charles didn’t have time to hate himself.

The sirens overhead weren’t air police sirens, but _military_ sirens. He hadn’t heard them since since the war. Charles made himself get up and go downstairs. There was a radio in the kitchen that Hank used occasionally. There was a radio Raven used only for work that she kept with her, too, but he hadn’t been allowed around the thing since he’d been banned from all the other Shaw intelligence.

He sat down at the kitchen table, turned the radio on, and adjusted the dial to the least frantic station. 

_…smoke still rising from the mansion. Authorities are saying this is not an attack, but an accident from within the house. Citizens should not panic. If you are just tuning in, there has been an explosion at the home of the King’s Royal Sorcerer, Madame Emma Frost. She is alive and well, and there has been zero casualties. The worst injury reported was severe burns, suffered by a maid. Authorities—_

“What happened? Aren’t those military sirens?”

Erik walked purposefully into the room. Charles glanced at him, then quickly back to the radio. “The Royal Sorcerer’s house got attacked—I mean, destroyed by an explosion. They don’t know if it was an actual attack. They say it’s not, but then why would there be sirens?”

“Huh.” Erik sat down next to Charles, then pulled the radio towards himself. He turned to another station. 

_—a threat! It can’t be anything else. What kind of message are they sending, attacking a respectable sorcerer’s home? That’s what I want to know._

Erik changed the channel again.

_—sorcery has been only tentatively accepted practice, Richey, and some countries still ban it altogether. This may have nothing to do with threats to the King. I think the attack on the Madame’s mansion is a form of anonymous protest from the people who think sorcery is either too dangerous for the populous, or even the King himself. Protection might be the intention—_

And again. 

_—warships have been flying overhead all morning, but they don’t seem to have anything to do with the Royal Sorcerer._

“Ah,” Erik muttered. He turned up the volume.

_Their altitude and velocity suggest long term flight,_ continued a man’s voice.

_But why the sirens?_ asked a second man. 

_That, Alex, I’m much less certain about._

_Well, I do know that the nation is far more interested in them than the attack on the Royal Sorcerer’s house at the moment—despite what the other stations might indicate. It’s as if the sirens were there to alert them to the explosion, which is ridiculous. If the explosion was meant to be a distraction, why use the sirens at all? The military’s kept them off in plenty of situations before now._

_I agree. This is Alex and Armando live from downtown York, home of the King and the Royally attacked Sorcerer. Come back in an hour for fresh thoughts and news._

When the station went quiet, Erik turned the radio off. “You can listen if you want to, but most of it will be censored government messages.” 

“No, that’s all right. Those last two people seemed to know what they were talking about.” 

Erik nodded. “They do, most of the time. They’ve helped me from time to time in the past when I needed inside information at an event. They’re good for giving out useful information, but they’re even better at keeping the best information to themselves.”

A lull fell over them. The light streaming through the window made Charles’s headache impossibly worse; he couldn’t even appreciate that the rain had passed. “Are you alright?” Erik asked. Another warship passed overhead, sounding a warning. The pattern was two long blares—a message to simply keep on guard. 

“Yes, I’m fine. I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Charles lied. 

“Do you want to lay back down? I can put a spell on you to mute the sirens for a few hours. The sirens aren’t indicating an immediate threat.”

Charles almost visibly recoiled at the idea of hampering yet another sense. “No, no. That won’t be necessary. I think I’ll just make tea and sit by Calcifer. Calcifer you mind if I stare at you for a bit?”

“Whatever, pretty boy. I suppose I’ll let you just this once.” Calcifer burned brightly around in his grate. 

Charles slowly stood and maneuvered himself onto his crutches. Erik stood, too. “I can make the tea. Go sit down. You look…exhausted.” 

A flush creeped up Charles’s neck. “Terrible? I know. I didn’t bathe yesterday, even after being out in the rain.” Not to mention he probably looked hungover. _Hopefully he won’t guess that._

“Raven said you mentioned rain in Veronne. Is that where you were yesterday?”

“For a while, yes…” He sat down heavily in the chair by the fire. His head wouldn’t stop swimming. 

Silence settled in again. Charles found he couldn’t even muster the energy to stare at Calcifer. He blinked his eyes open when Erik handed him the tea and sat down. “Are you sure you don’t want to…”

“Positive. Really.” Charles didn’t want to _move_. He didn’t want to leave while Erik was still here. How long was he going to be able to see Erik at this time of day? Early in the morning, cozy—despite the jarring military sirens, of course. He didn’t want to _think._ But then Charles began to recall yet again what Logan said…

Charles woke up and immediately felt a blanket on him. He was still sitting by the fire, and he heard voices right next to him. He was bleary and tired enough to pretend to continue sleeping. The sirens were gone.

“I overheard similar things on Raven’s radio before she left for the office with it, which was pretty early,” Hank said. 

“Think this will postpone the Gala? The solstice isn’t far away.” Erik’s voice. They both spoke quietly. 

“I’m almost certain of it. They’ll push it to the Vernal Equinox instead. That gives us more time to do more thorough background checks on more people, but these warships…” Hank’s words were accompanied by yet another warning siren from above. “Think it might be relevant to us?”

“I don’t know.” Erik sighed. “Doesn’t seem like it. Shaw’s never been known to stick his nose in the militia, but I wouldn’t necessarily put it past him. I was thinking it might be a good idea to get Alex and Armando to get a better grasp on what’s going on.”

“I was thinking the same thing. You heard their broadcast?”

“If they’re insinuating something odd is going on, I think we better find out what it is.”

“I agree.”

A pause. “Raven. Was she…” Erik trailed off.

“She’s fine. I think she cried enough to water my garden for a week, but it’s hardly broken her.”

Charles fought to keep from opening his eyes and asking questions. He fought the fog in his mind, too. _Does that mean…_

“Thanks, Hank. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I can’t exactly complain since it was my shoulder she was crying on. Bastard.” 

The room was quiet so long that Charles almost fell asleep again. But then Erik said, “I’ll go write up a letter with questions if Alex and Armando decide they want to risk their lives snooping again. Do you mind…”

“Sure,” Hank said.

Erik got up and his footfalls retreated up the stairs. Hank sat down in his place. “What am I going to do, Calcifer?”

“Knowing you,” the fire said, “probably nothing.”

Hank growled. Charles decided it was a good enough reason for him to “wake up.” He opened his eyes and stretched. 

“Oh, sorry,” Hank said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Huh? No, no…what time is it?”

“Almost two.”

“Two…” His eyes went wide. “ _Two?_ ”

“Yup. Did you stay out late or something?”

“Not really.” He looked away. “Maybe later than usual.”

“Skipping the post-dinner ‘talk’ right?”

“Uh…”

Hank chucked. “I don’t blame you. Raven gave me the impression it got ugly, fast.”

“Why?” _As if I don’t know why_ , Charles chided himself. 

“Did she talk to you yesterday morning?”

“She told me Erik wanted to talk. She seemed to think…” _Proposal_ sounded too strange on his tongue to say aloud.

Apparently the same went for Hank. “She was the same way when she stopped by my house.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “I think she…she thought I had bought a ring for Erik in secret. She _joked_ about it.” The pain in his voice was as loud as the sirens.

“I’m so sorry, Hank.” 

“Don’t be. Erik broke up for good this time. Maybe now she’ll see some sense, no thanks to me.” Hank tried to laugh, but it was feeble. “Of course, she’ll nothing short of devastated for a while. She’s lived with him for what seems like forever. It didn’t matter if they were dating or not. They still saw each other all the time. Even when Erik was mad at her, he never kicked her out. Even when she was mad at him, she never moved out.”

_Maybe that’s why she didn’t follow through with kicking me out, to extend the same courtesy Erik offered her._ The insight cut off with another throb of pain in his forehead. His vision was just colors and splotches now.

He sat up again, and his tone was lighter. “She stayed at my place last night. It’s really the only other place she could go in the moment, but still.”

“That matters, Hank,” Charles reassured. 

“Maybe. She’s asked to stay at my house until she figures out what’s next. She says she can’t stand the thought of living in the castle if she knows Erik doesn’t want her.”

“I’m sure Erik doesn’t mean…”

“Erik would never say he ‘didn’t want her,’ but he apparently made it clear he didn’t want her _that_ _way_ anymore.”

“I think you should try to convince her to stay at your house. Maybe as a roommate, assuming that’s what you want.”

“Yeah, I…think that’s what I’ll do. If she thinks its a good idea, of course. I’m just the person to console her right now, but…it’s a start. I just wanted things to be really over before I made a move.”

“Of course,” Charles said, smiling. “You should get her flowers.”

Hank sighed. “Good idea. She’ll like that. She didn’t see the rejection coming, but I can’t blame Erik for leading her on too much, really. That wasn’t his intention. He just couldn’t tell her ‘no’ without worrying he’d live alone forever. I give him some credit for letting her go as soon as he felt that wasn’t a major concern anymore. Nevertheless, I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”

“No,” Charles murmured, feeling woozy again.

“He assures me he tried to do it by the book. You know, the book Raven gave him? Ironic, huh? But he says there was a whole chapter at the end about what to do if the long term relationship doesn’t work out.”

“I’m surprised he read through all the way to the end. Assuming he didn’t just skip to that part.” Charles said.

Hank laughed. “I don’t think he did. Bloody witches, half of the times I’ve come over the past few weeks, he’s been reading that thing.”

“He’s a very all-or-nothing person, isn’t he? When he admitted to me he hadn’t read a page of it, I told him to glance through it. But I _didn’t_ tell him to obsess.”

That made Hank pause. “You convinced him to read it?”

“I didn’t mean to mess everything up. I know that I’ve been…living off of you guys a little, I guess. I haven’t had a chance…” Charles struggled finding the right words when his skull was squeezing his brain. _Is this what all hangovers are like?_

Hank turned to face him straight on. “Charles, listen to me.”

He could try, anyway. 

“You haven’t messed anything up, but you have changed things.” He shifted awkwardly in his chair. “I’ve never seen Erik so…well, he’s changed, too.”

He was trying to listen. But he was seeing black in his peripheral vision, and he felt nauseous. _Is this a hangover?_ He thought again. 

“More happy, I think. It’s hard to tell with him. Less gloomy is probably a better way to put it.”

“Beasty,” Calcifer said. “I think he passed out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me if updates are slow.


End file.
